


Of Wives and Queens

by JesseMo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/F, F/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, One-Sided Attraction, Polyamory, Underage Sex, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 42
Words: 102,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6940765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesseMo/pseuds/JesseMo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark is sent to marry Khal Drogo in an attempt at avoiding one more man with an army trying to take the throne. <br/>Meanwhile afterward, Tywin finds a suitable wife for Tyrion and Robb Stark upholds his promise to take a Frey bride. <br/>To many peoples surprise, Sansa adapts and takes well to her new life among the Dothraki as their Khaleesi and soon learn she's pregnant.<br/>But Viserys is not one to quit so easily and brings Daenerys to Khal Drogo. With the experience Sansa has acquired she makes a bargain with Viserys in return for lending him her husbands army. He will help him win the throne, arrange for her brother to join forces with him and in exchange, the North will be independent. But the deal is laced with lies and as time passes Sansa and Daenerys they have growing feelings for each other, and Drogo is more than approving of this turn of events. <br/>In this tale, we explore the lives and trials of wives and queens and what it truly means to be one, the other and more often than not, both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Before the Eyes of Gods and Men (Discontinued / To Be Re-Written)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562902) by [kakashihatake123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have touched up and tweaked the current chapters, I also have chapter ten at the ready. It may be best to re-read.  
> Sorry for the inconvenience.

“It seems Viserys Targaryen has plans to raise an army against us.” said Cersei Lannister, smirking at her brother as she began the council meeting which he was intended to lead.

  
Tyrion glanced at Varys and Littlefinger, the general sources of information. Varys nodded, confirming what Cersei had just said.

  
“What possible army could he have, he has no money to buy one, and the people of the free cities have no loyalty to him to fight for him.” Tyrion listed off, all very good points.

  
“A Dothraki one.” she answered her brother.

  
“There was word even when Robert was alive that Viserys had plans to marry his sister to Khal Drogo.”

  
Varys joined the conversation. “At that time the marriage meeting did not go through, as the girl had yet to bleed and Viserys most likely feared this Khals rejection of her for it if she could not produce children yet for him.”

  
“The Dothraki are no threat, the savages are too in love with their horses to risk them by crossing water they can’t drink. They're a superstitious lot that have nothing more than numbers and brute strength” said Little Finger.

  
“Numbers and brute strength can win a war. How do you think Robert took in the first place?” Cersei pointed out. Her late husband certainly didn’t win because of his mind for strategy.

  
“Still, an army on the other side of the sea is the least of our problems.” Maester Pycelle croaked from his chair.

  
“We have too many self titled kings fighting for the throne, we cannot afford a Dothraki Army at our walls if they do up and decide to cross the sea in Viserys name.” Tyrion sighed and shifted in his chair. “Not when we have the Starks, the two remaining Baratheons, and The Greyjoys at our backs.”

  
Tyrion hated when his sister was right.

  
Something would need to be done to prevent any chance of Viserys swaying the Dothraki to fight for him. But what could be done was the real question?

  
“The Dothraki have no value for gold, titles or property. They pillage for what they want and roam at their leisure, they stay nowhere for long.” Vary supplied some information as they all pondered.

  
“Perhaps if we supply them a thousand horses they will be satisfied and agree not to ally with Viserys in exchange.” said Tyrion.

  
Cersei scoffed.

  
“We are at war, we cannot afford to give away our horses.” she looked almost disappointed in her brother's lack of imagination.

  
Her grin unsettled him.

  
“What we can afford to lose though is a single woman. If a bride was what Viserys had in mind, let us offer our own.” her emerald eyes glinted like a blade that had caught the light.

  
Tyrion narrowed his eyes. He could not imagine in a thousand years that Cersei would offer Myrcella to such a man, and she was not stupid enough to think they could send a whore dressed like a high born and fall for the rouse, not after he put himself between their legs. All that left was…

  
"No!"

  
“You have beheaded her father in front of her, allowed Joffrey to beat and humiliate her, and now you want to marry her to a Dothraki horse lord.” Tyrion voice simmered with disgust and rage, astounded by his sisters viciousness.

  
“Sansa Stark has bled, she is tall, filled out and incredibly beautiful. If Khal Drogo wants a wife, we will give him a better one than Daenerys Targaryen.” she explained relaxing in her chair as if all had been figured out and decided already.  
They had already offered a false trade, telling the King in the North that they had both of his sisters and would return them in exchange for Jaime. They would gag and bag Sansa’s head and have another girl that looked like Arya with them. An ambush would take place or a distraction in which Jaime was retrieved and they ran.

  
Only Robb Stark had not agree to such a trade.

  
Sansa was no use to them anymore, she had very little value for the crown anymore.

  
“It seems not even the Young Wolf loves his sister's enough to risk losing the war. The Starks would never even know we sent Sansa away, that is if they care enough anymore, if this is conducted in the utmost discretion.” said Cersei leaning forward glancing at the members of the table.

  
Tyrion wet his lips with his wine and ran a hand down his face. He looked to the members of the council and found no objection on their faces besides Little Finger.

  
He seemed to have been under some impression that he might be given Sansa for his own bride as an award for his loyalty. No one had any real faith that he would marry the girl. After all, if he did have that intention plans for the wedding would have begun the moment she bled the first time.

  
“As hand of the king, I will consider it. Now, regarding the preparations for Stannis,” they talked for a good few hours, each one having their turn. Lord Baelish reported on the crown's finances, Varys on news of the war through his little bird and then at last they spoke on preparing for winter and the bigger complaints of the small people that needed to be taken care of.

  
Kings Landing was starving. They needed more trade, and with armies at every direction it was hard to get shipments in when Stannis and Baylon held the seas, and Renly and Robb Stark had the roads. They were being cut off.

  
After a long time discussing the council was dismissed, but for Tyrion he had much more thinking to do, particularly about Sansa Stark.

  
He had asked her once if she wanted to end her engagement with Joffrey and she had played her part so very well when she answered him, chin high, tears dried and swearing her love for Joffrey. Many people thought her weaker than she was, a pretty fool. But she was much more. She had a sharp mind and charm, very much like her mother, he thought.

  
Tyrion worried for her though. He had given Shae to her and the two have seemingly bonded well since. What was concerning is that Tyrion had tried hard to keep Sansa from Joffrey’s abuse but while he was ruling the kingdom in his nephew's name, trying desperately to fix his and Cersei’s mistakes and help the people, he could not always be at his nephew's side to stop him. Joffrey found ways around his uncle to get to Sansa, sicking his white cloaks on her like hounds on a rabbit. Worst of all, the boy seemed to get off on having an audience for his torture of the girl. He loved the public humiliation he put her at the center of, ruining her in the eyes of everyone else.

  
Tyrion could leave guards at her door, but no one could deny a summons from the king for long without Joffrey sending more men willing to kill any man at his orders. Once at court and without him there with her, Joffrey could do whatever he liked and he knew Cersei wouldn’t stop him. She seemed to enjoy the girl's pain as much as Joffrey did. He wondered if perhaps his sister was jealous of the Sansa, of her beauty and innocence despite what she has endured.

  
Sansa could refuse to go to court, but when Joffrey did finally drag her out of her chambers she would face his petulant wrath twice fold for her defiance.

  
Maybe he would be helping her by sending her to Essos to marry a Khal, not even a savage like the Dothraki would torture her as Joffrey’s has. They may be known for their pillaging and raping but they did not go out of their way of to torture others. She would be far from this terrible place, where no one would think her a traitor's daughter. She would be free.

  
That night he slept with a heavy conscious as he thought of the decision he had to make.

  
The following days passed slowly, he oversaw the preparations for the siege that was coming, and after everything was seen to, the decision he would have to make about Sansa hung above his head. At long last, he made up his mind and he informed Cersei.

  
She was watching Myrcella down in the yard below his solar. The girl was laughing and playing with some of her maids and friends from court. Tommen was taking his lessons. Despite summer being over, it was still bright and warm over Kings Landing.

  
Winter traveled slowly from the north, and you would feel it in the wind from time to time, especially at night.

  
“Joffrey will want to tell her of course.” she smirked, swirling her wine before taking a drink of it. “He’ll want everyone to think it was his idea, he is the king after all, he should get the praise and the glory if this plans succeeds.”

  
“Yes, he does seem to enjoy being the barer of bad news for the girl.” he agreed, pouring himself a glass as well.

  
“I assume you spoke to her when she had her first bleeding, about what to expect?” Tyrion asked awkwardly, shifting the weight from one foot to another.

  
“Of course!” she smiled, giving a sweep of her arm as she looked down at him.

  
“A proper talk? Or did you only say things that would frighten Sansa?” he narrowed his eyes, knowing his sister well. He watched her smile turn to an angry scowl.

  
“I was actually very kind with her. At that time she was to wed Joffrey and I told her that he has always been difficult, even when I was in labor with him for a day and half and that she should not expect him to be kind, or show devotion when it was her time to give him little princes and princesses.” she said pacing.

  
“You told her about birth, but did you speak with her about how a baby gets inside her. About fucking, what her husband would expect from her in their chamber?” Tyrion grew increasingly more uncomfortable with the conversation, even though he had brought it up himself.

  
“What difference does it make to you whether she knows how to spread her legs the right way? All she needs to do is lie on her back and open them for the savage.” she sneered, her green eyes narrow and more catlike than ever before as she took in his small form.

  
Tyrion took a long drink from his glass, needing it more than ever “She is a delicate girl, and as you said, filled with dreams. She should know what to expect, and that it is possible to take some pleasure in her marriage bed.”

  
“She’ll only have the Khal, she won’t have the affection and tenderness of another lover like you did.” he said softly, both understanding he was referring to Jaime, but his voice was void of any possible sarcasm or disgust. Despite what Cersei thought, he cared for his family and loved his big brother so much he would not judge him for his terrible taste in women.

  
Cersei didn’t say anything and Tyrion gave a frustrated sigh.

  
“I’ll have her handmaiden speak with her, I’m sure the woman has some experience that she can share.” he dropped from his chair and made to leave but he stopped at the door and turned around to look at his sister once more.

  
“If Stannis breaches our gates, it will all be over. You’re children are not safe here, arrange a marriage for Myrcella, have an ally foster Tommen.” he urged her. “Please, I know you don’t want to part with your children but would you rather have them die with you if all fails or live on and carry on the Lannister legacy?”

  
And then he left, if she had planned an answer he never got to hear it.

  
In Sansa’s chambers she let out a whimper as Shae pressed her fingers lightly over the wide bruise going across one of the girls thighs. The handmaiden was applying some ointment that Maester Pycelle had given them for just such occasions.

  
Robb had won another triumph over Joffrey and Lord Tywin’s forces. The young king was not pleased. Upon receiving word of this news Joffrey had Sansa called for and brought to the throne room. There, he had Ser Boros force her to her knees and told her to lift her gown up over her thighs. She had done so, terrified as to what Joffrey could possibly have planned for her.

  
But he did not make her strip, no, he had another man bring forth a thick, wooden stick and on closer inspection Sansa had seen that it was a practice sword, like the ones that Robb and Theon had used in the yard at Winterfell. She trembled, at the thought of the number of things that could be done to her with such an object. Joffrey didn’t like to leave permanent marks on her, no scars and never her face, but he had no qualms setting his Kingsguard on the rest of her. He had let them roughly grope her, strip her, beat her with blunt objects always careful though never to hit the area of her womb.

  
She was still his betrothed and his mother warned that when married he was still expected to put a baby in her. He could not have an heir if his wife's womb was made useless, and by his own order nonetheless.  
The thought of having Joffrey inside of her, any part of him left Sansa nauseous.

  
Joffrey ordered Ser Trent to take the wooden sword down across her thighs, beating the tops until her stockings tore and her skin began to redden and purple.

  
Sansa did not want to give Joffrey anymore satisfaction from her suffering, so she bit the inside of her cheeks so she wouldn’t scream until blood flooded her mouth and she had to swallow the hot, coppery liquid down. He already had her tears, she would not give him her voice. She had to keep her back straight so that Ser Trent would not hit any other part of her, the one time she began to fold over he had brought the wood across her shoulders.

  
When at last Joffrey decided she had enough and had grown bored, the tops of her thighs were entirely black and blue. She tried to stand, but she quickly found that it was too much. She kept trying until finally Lord Baelish had mercy on her, suggesting that someone carry her back to her chambers. Joffrey was quick to mock him for it.

  
“I hope you are not suggesting yourself. As if you could lift more then your quil!” he gave a laugh before flicking his wrist towards the hound who went over and scooped Sansa into his arms. She curled against his chest, tucking her head down and tried to hide her face. She felt enough shame.

  
“You told me to give him what he wants, but I don’t know what that is anymore.” Sansa tried not to cry.

“Nothing I do seems to please him.”

  
“I don’t know either, little bird.” he said it like an apology and said no more, taking advantage to hold her just a little bit closer.

  
Sandor remained silent up until he delivered her to Shae, who had been waiting in her lady’s chambers, having been gone earlier when Sansa had been called to court.

  
Shae had cursed The Hound all the way through his deposit of Sansa onto her feather bed and shooed him off as quickly as he came. The man snarled at her like a dog, growling at her as he let her push at his back until he was passed the door and she swung it close behind him, barring it.

  
She rushed back to Sansa. Asking the terrified child what had happened.

  
“My legs!” she could only sob.

  
Shae lifted her gown and grimaced at what she found underneath. She hesitated only a second before fetching the ointment and setting herself to work.

  
“Oh, my poor girl.” she sighed when Sansa whimpered.

  
“It hurts, Shae!” Sansa said, hand striking out and gripping Shae’s wrist.

  
“I know, I know.” she shushed Sansa’s cry, pushing some hair from her face. She gave a smile, hoping that it might give her some comfort to see. “I’ll pour you some poppy milk to ease your pain.”

  
Sansa shook her head. “I don’t want it, it gives me odd dreams.”

  
“Enough of that, you're in pain.” said Shae strongly. “I’ll give you just enough to numb you but not enough to make you sleep. Or would you like to lay in bed in agony all day?”

“Well?”she asked after Sansa’s pause, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead.

  
“Alright.” Sansa bit her lip let go of Shae.

  
Once free Shae moved over to the side table she had taken the ointment from. She opened the drawer built in and took out a spherical bottle ¼ full with milk of the poppy. It was to help with the more serious injuries that Sansa had suffered. Trent had broken a few of her ribs once when he had kicked her too hard during one of her punishments associated with her brother.

  
Shae brought the bottle back and sat on the beds side with her body turned to Sansa. She uncorked the stopped and brought the opening of the bottle to Sansa’s lips, tilting it back for her so that she only poured the right amount. Sansa swallowed like an obedient child and when Shae took the bottle back and put the stopped back in she praised her for being so good for her.

  
It wasn’t often, but sometimes Shae would shower Sansa with the sisterly/motherly affection that she so needed. Otherwise she had to be pessimistic with her to ensure Sansa remained strong and smart, that she didn’t trust the wrong people such as that Little Finger man.

  
Shae recognized the way he looked at her girl. She had seen the same look in hundreds of men before him.

She knew what he wanted, and she would never allow it.

  
“Your legs are starting to swell.” Shae said with an underlying anger as she looked down at the bruising thighs.

  
Going over to her wash basin Shae wet some cloth, the water not cold enough to ease the swelling but perhaps enough to ease it as the damp cloth cooled in the air. She laid the cloth over Sansa’s thighs gently, watching Sansa’s face for pain. The girl wreathed and yelped, the poppy milk having yet to take hold.

  
Shae sighed, this would not do for long. Sansa would surely be expected back in court tomorrow and if not right away then the days following, as Joffrey was so cruel. There would be no sympathy for Sansa’s wounds and she would be granted no leave from Joffrey’s court unless the Maester advised it and Joffrey so little let her be treated by the royal Maester, thinking it too high a privilege for a traitor's daughter.

  
Shae and Sansa had been together for sometime and Sansa had somehow managed to find a spot in Shae’s heart despite what could be considered a rocky introduction to one another. The two of them were close. Shae adored and loved Sansa and would kill for the girl without hesitation. But soon they would be separated.

  
Tyrion had told his lover that the council had decided to send Sansa across the sea to Essos to marry a Dothraki Khal. Apparently, Viserys Targaryen had his own plans to marry his sister to the Dothraki Warlord in exchange for an army. It was the council's strategy to intervene before Viserys could make the official offer by giving the man another woman first.

  
Shae did not care for the politics of it, only that her sweet girl was being sold to a barbarian for the promise that he would keep his armies to himself and give no men to anyone else's cause. Sansa wanted a prince, a lord, someone sweet and gentle that would finally give her the love and devotion she always dreamed of. This Khal Drogo would be nothing of the such. Sansa would be lonely and used roughly until she gave birth to a son. There was no guarantee Sansa’s armor of courtesies would protect her among the Dothraki, for they cared little for such flatters and manners.

  
That was why Shae had been away. Tyrion had summoned her to asked Shae to teach Sansa how to please a man, how the girl could find her own pleasure during bedding so that it was not too terrible for her. Tyrion also told her he would have books sent to Sansa’s room so that she could read about the Dothraki and their language. By the time she would wed she would be prepared for her new way of living. Shae knew he was sympathetic, that he had tried to stop this madness of course, but even he had to think of the kingdom. For it’s safety, Sansa was there best chance against another king waging war.

  
Still, Shae had not been happy to hear of this decision. In fact she was furious, she had destroyed Tyrion’s chamber, throwing whatever she could get her hands on at him  
“How could you let this happen, has that girl not suffered enough? We are supposed to protect her, we are the only allies she has in this wretched place!” Shae had shrilled at him.

  
Shae knew he too had a soft spot for Sansa. He and Shae both wanted to protect the young woman but they seemed to be failing miserably as of late.

  
“If you want someone to tell her, than you will tell her yourself. And after you leave, I will wipe away her tears and lick her wounds as I have since the day you gave me to her.” and then she stormed out of his rooms to return to Sansa.

  
Shae was not concerned with teaching Sansa pillow tricks, her duty was to brush her hair, dress her, bathe her, tend her wounds and make sure she remembered to eat her meals. She would not let Sansa waste herself away. The well rounded body of a well off young woman had thinned terribly from refusing to eat. Sansa only ever picked at her food so Shae did her best to try and get her sweets because at least Sansa would still eat those.

  
Shae did have some experience with pleasing a Dothraki man, but only enough to teach Sansa what they liked in bed. The Dothraki did things at their own time and in their own ways. They were proud and strong and mounted their woman like horses mounted one another. But with the right hand they could be guided to their backs.

  
They were rough, calloused people and she worried that Sansa might not survive them, they were so very different from the men in Westeros. Sansa would not know the luxury of a strong, protective keep with orderly servants and handmaidens. Her walls would leather, her household Dothraki warriors, handmaidens slaves. She would never taste the assortment of foods she might have available to her now, they would constantly be moving, riding horseback almost daily for long hours and would have to witness many deaths and barbaric tendencies before her eyes.

  
Perhaps if she had some interactions with the wildlings in the North, she might have a better tolerance or understanding of the life style. But all Sansa knew of the North was what she was taught from the tombs of her keeps library or word of mouth by her family.

  
“I wish I could send you back to them,” Shae said in a whisper, meaning her family. She was sure Sansa’s mother missed her so. The girl would sometimes talk about what a great noble lady her mother was, that she was strict but so very loving.

  
“Hmm?” Sansa asked, the milk of the poppy finally setting in, making Sansa’s head fuzzy.

  
“Don’t mind me, My Lady. Just rest now.” Shae smiled and stroked back Sansa’s hair.

  
She waited until Sansa was a little more relaxed and was in no more pain before she left her side. She wanted to get something for Sansa’s legs.

  
“Where are you going?” Sansa asked in a foggy voice, her body felt so heavy as she tried to sit back up.

  
“None of that now.” said Shae and guided her back down onto the soft pillows. “I’m just going to find something cold to ease the swelling of your legs.”

  
“Oh.” said Sansa and gave a peaceful sigh. “Alright then.”

  
“I’ll be back soon,” she promised and left the room.

  
Alone now in her slightly drugged haze, Sansa gave a languid blink of her eyes. She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds longer, feeling sleepy and when she opened again she saw Lady sitting at her bedside, tail thumping on the carpet as she waited for her master. Sansa smiled at her direwolf and patted the quilts beside her. It was permission for Lady to join her. She wanted her companion beside her and to feel her comforting, strong body beside her. She felt safe when Lady was with her, safe and brave and strong.

  
Lady did not move, she knew she was not allowed on the furniture by mother. But mother wasn’t here, Sansa thought.

  
“It’s alright my, Lady Love. Up!” Sansa reassured her, patting the spot next to her again.

  
Satisfied by her masters approval, Lady at last jumped onto the bed, coming right to Sansa, licking Sansa chin before nuzzling her large head under it excitably and Sansa laughed.

  
She wrapped her arms around her beloved companion's neck and breathed in the scent that clung to her fur. She smelled of Winterfell, of home.

  
“I’ve missed you so much, Lady.” she gave a sorrowful sigh just behind the wolf's ear. “I’m sorry I let you die.”

  
Lady gave a forgiving whine licking a strip up Sansa’s cheek before fitting herself in the crook of Sansa’s neck, sniffing her hair and wagging her tail as Sansa stroked and scratched her. Everything felt right in that moment and Sansa could imagine she was back in Winterfell in her childhood chambers, safe and at home with Lady where they belonged.

  
She didn’t want it to end. But it did.

  
Sensing something, Lady shot up, jumping out of Sansa’s arms and off the bed to the door.

  
“Oh, do you need to make water, Lady?” she asked as the wolf scratched at the door. “That’s a good girl, letting me know.”

  
She had trained Lady very well of course. She was, as her name stated, a Lady afterall.

  
Sansa struggled out of bed, her legs numb but shaking so it was hard for her to balance and stay righted for more than a moment. But she braced herself on the bed and the walls until she reached the door and opened it. Lady squeezed through before she could even fully open it, shooting out into the hall.

  
What had gotten into her? Sansa couldn’t help but think. She leaned out the door and stared after Lady. The wolf was waiting for her, tail wagging and head swinging from Sansa to the direction she wanted to go. Beckoning her master to come.

  
Sansa obeyed.

  
She leaned against the stone walls and followed after Lady slowly. The wolf never went too far ahead, stopping to let Sansa catch up before continuing to lead her where she wanted. When Sansa stumbled Lady rushed back and let Sansa lean on her the rest of the way, her body as large as a pony, easily able to support her. Sansa was amazed she hadn’t been crushed earlier in bed. Or was it somehow that Lady had gotten suddenly bigger than she had been earlier.

  
Eventually Lady lead her out onto a terrace overlooking Kings Landing. Sansa gasped at the sight before her. The sky was on fire, giant, winged lizards blowing out clouds of flame. Beneath their shadows the city was crumbling under a massive team of horses and pack of wolves, thousands upon thousands of them entering the city and filling the crevices of the capitol.

  
People were screaming, knights were mauled by the wolves and soldiers were fighting the dark bare skinned men that road the horses. The flames of the dragons above melted the clay roofs of the city and set fire to the city watch at their posts, men falling in burning masses. But none of this frightened Sansa. Her heart did not pound with fear or dread but exhilaration. Hot excitement tensed her muscles and anticipation of something great sent shivers down her spine. If it was the siege of the castle or something else, she could not pinpoint what. Most of all, there was something eerily beautiful about the scene, like something she had once read about in a story or heard in a song.

  
The howls and growls of the attacking wolves filled her with a longing for home and her own brothers and sister. Lady who sat beside her on the terrace, who rarely ever barked, gave a loud echoing howl that silenced all the others. Sansa somehow knew, it was not a common greeting of wolf and wolf, this howl was an order to the others. They stopped, then divided, coming closer to the castle and chewing their way through the men that dared stand in the way.

  
Sansa’s eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on the image of the wolves and then opened them wide. She could swear one of the wolves were not like the others, it was as massive as Lady, blood covering it’s maw and flank. Nymeria. She yipped behind her at some of the others, and they split off, taking down a particularly large knight.

  
Her heart twinged with a resonating pain.

  
Arya should be with her watching as justice unfold onto the corrupt, twisted city and the occupants that had killed their father and wronged their family. She should have gone straight to her sister, made sure she was safe. They should never have been separated. They were supposed to keep each other safe and love one another, it was all their father wanted from them and instead they fought constantly and tried to hurt one another in the pettiest of ways. She felt so ashamed of her actions now.

  
Soon the dragons would reach the castle and melt it down into a mirror of Harrenhal, scorching it beyond recognition. The wolves would snatch the Lannister's from and drag them outside for all to see, chewing through them to the bone, slow and agonizing.

  
As the horses, the wolves and the dragons descended on the Red Keep, Sansa was not afraid. Somehow they were all familiar to her and she to them. Tilting her head back to look upon the dragons she did admit she felt some wariness.

  
With a thundering shake, a black as coal dragon landed on the rafters of the keep. Knights and petty soldiers crushed under clawed foot. It’s long neck stretched towards Sansa and she could see that a girl sat riding it’s neck. The young woman was small and slender and could not be much older than herself. Her silver-blonde hair was free and billowing behind her as her purple eyes stared straight into Sansa. Her porcelain skin stood out like a gleaming pearl beside the black scales of her dragon.

  
In the girls hand, she held a crown of winter roses out to her.

  
Sansa felt no hesitation and reached to take it, stepping closer to the stone railing and stretching over to take it from the woman. She was almost there, she could feel the soft blue petals at her fingertips.

  
“My Lady!” she was grasped around the waist and pulled back roughly until she was in the shade of the castle hall, a good distance from the ledge she had nearly just toppled over.

  
She was spun around, hands coming up and snatching her face into their hands. Shae was in front of her, her dark eyes staring panicked and horrified into Sansa’s. They were not purple like the girl, and Sansa longed to look into those beautiful eyes again.

  
“What were you thinking, you nearly fell to your death!”Shae screamed at her with shocked concern, not even wary of who her voice might attract.

  
“Did you drink more milk of the poppy after I left?” she asked, bringing Sansa’s face closer to examine the glaze of her eyes.

  
Sansa groaned and tried to turn her head to look back at the terrace to see if the girl was still there with the crown of roses. She wasn’t, and neither was Lady. Sansa looked around them, trying to find where Lady could have gone. Her wolf wouldn’t leave her behind, she would never but she had. Lady was dead.

  
It had all been a vivid illusion. A hot tear trailed down Sansa’s face.

  
“Listen to me, Sansa!” Shae hissed and pinched Sansa chin to force her to look at her too.

  
“You can not end yourself this way, please don’t ever do something so foolish again. It will get better, I promise!” she would have said anything to keep Sansa from giving up, even telling her a lie.

  
Shae did something very surprising and embraced Sansa, petting her hair and letting her rest her cheek in the crook of her neck. Eventually Sansa lifted her arms and held on the back of Shae’s maid gown but did not cry anymore than that one tear. She felt numb and her mind kept going back to the girl on the dragon.

  
Just around a corner the hound stood, he stopped when he saw that Shae had gotten to the girl first, pulling her back from the ledge. He would make sure they were undisturbed.

  
He thought back to Shae and his meeting earlier. They had crossed one another as the woman was returning with ice from the kitchens. She had glared at him before going to walk past him.

  
He had grabbed her arm, successfully stopping her.

  
“One of us has to go with her,” he told her. “It can’t be me, so it has to be you. She won’t last long otherwise.”

  
“Don't you think I know that!” she whisper shouted at him. “It’s not that simple.”

  
“Why, because your fucking the Imp?” he asked, making a face.

  
Her expression did not give anything away but her felt the muscles of her arm tense under his grip.

  
“Aye, I know.” he gave a small nod as if to answer her unspoken question.

  
“Who needs you more?” he asked.

  
“The Imp can find another whore just as good as you, but it’s unlikely the little bird will be given a maid she can actually trust to watch her back before or after she gets to Myr.” he told her, his grip tightening to painful.

  
Without a word Shae yanked her arm from him, spilling some ice and water before quickly running off to Sansa’s chambers.

  
Sandor did not pray, but as he glanced around the corner at the two women, he hoped the whore would make the right choice.


	2. 2

The day before felt like a bad dream. Sansa’s head was still in a haze when she woke up and it took the pain in her legs as she tried to move from bed to clear it. Her thighs throbbed and Sansa sucked in a breath. Any movement sent terrible spasms from her thighs that crippled her where she was. She dared not move anymore and fell back on the feather bed, waiting for Shae to come.

  
She had dreamed of Bran last night and her hurt legs made her think of him. Where her legs would heal his would forever be useless. Waking, this must be how he felt. At mercy and immobile as he waited for a steward or maid to come to his chamber and help him ready for the day. She missed her brother dearly. He always loved to listen to her stories and the old ones that Old Nan would tell them, the ones that gave him night terrors. She had never realized why he insisted on being told them when he knew how they affected his sleep.

  
Sansa wondered if perhaps the dreams were not all bad, that there was something good or mysterious in them that made him keep going back to them. Like the girl on the dragon and Lady. She wanted to see them again.

Sansa had an idea of who the young woman was; Daenerys Targaryen. Last Sansa happened to hear, the princess was in the Free Cities under the care of her brother. What bothered her was why she had seen Daenerys in her vision. The girl and her brother had been exiled before her birth when her pregnant mother had fled during Robert's Rebellion with her youngest son and some men to protect them. Sansa had never met them obviously.

  
She had heard by maids and from townsfolk both sides of her Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen's tragic story. Some claimed that her Aunt Lyanna loved the prince, that she had willingly went with him and did not want to marry King Robert. The other side, her father's side, was that Rhaegar had become obsessed with her and taken her by force, raping her and keeping her captive until her father had found his sister locked away and guarded in a tower.

  
Sansa, always the dreamer and romantic, preferred to imagine the happier yet still tragic side was true.

  
Rhaegar, despite being content in his marriage had been smitten with young, beautiful and willful Lyanna Stark who was then the betrothed of Robert Baratheon in which she did not love. Captivated, the prince had foolishly named her the queen of love and beauty at a tourney rather than giving the title and crown of roses to his Martell wife. The slight must have been a terrible slap in the face to his wife, Sansa thought, and wondered how she would have handled such public humiliation. What she face from Joffrey was horrible, but it must be worst when you thought your husband loved you.

She felt terrible for the princess of course, and she wondered if they were so cruel to the princes Elia as they had been to Sansa when they had kept her and her children prisoner in the Red Keep as a hostage and leverage over the Martells to keep them from taking another side then the crowns.

  
But Robb was not fighting for her, Sansa knew. He had not attempted to even make contact with the thrown for her release since their father's death. Did the princess feel this way too, when her brothers had not come for her. Yet it was well known how much Oberyn Martell adored his sister.

  
Even her father had waged war to rescue his sister. She had thought Robb would rescue her but it felt like he had forgotten entirely about her. At she knew, her fierce, protective mother must be chewing at his ear on what his plans were to get them back. It seemed that the council was making sure that her family was under the impression that they both Sansa and Arya.

  
Arya, so many thought she was dead. Starved or murdered and discarded. Sansa hoped not. Arya was always so wild. She probably found back of wild dogs and made home with them. The image of her sister curled in the center of some mongrels and hunting small game with them, her sister hair a matted mess and clothes dirty made Sansa smile a little.

  
Somehow she made it out of the capitol, otherwise she knew her brave little sister might have tried to come back for Sansa. She was more a knight and hero than any white cloak and no matter how much they fought, her sister would not have abandoned her if she could have rescued her.

  
It felt like the only safe ones were Bran and Rickon at home in Winterfell. She prayed they stayed that way.  
It made her think of her dreams again. Old Nan told them sometimes stories about Starks who could leave their own skin and enter that of a wolf or other animal. Bran loved those stories. They said Robb could turn into a wolf during battle. She didn’t believe that. He was just a very brave young man with their fathers skill to lead and fight. But her dreams and the vision she had felt so real. She felt the petals of the crown and Lady’s fur.

  
She asked Old Nan once, worried of such things actually happening to them she had told Sansa this,

  
“My dear, child, you are too much of your mother to ever worry about growing fur and ears atop your head. You have river water in your veins rather than the ice your siblings have.” she had said as she plated her hair with wild flowers and then left.

  
Sansa knew that was true. She was so different from her siblings, all much more northern and wild than she with her perfect courtesies and delicate disposition. It had never really bothered her, she had her mother and Jeyne, she was content with her life and happy to dream of the prospects of her future.

  
But then they found the direwolves and Sansa began to feel a connection with her siblings and father she had not before. With Lady by her side she finally felt like part of the north, a real young woman of House Stark.

She played more with her brothers and sisters, spent more time just sitting with her father, sewing him a new handkerchief while he worked. This were well and at peace.

  
She missed those melancholy days.

  
There was a knock on the door before Shae announced herself and she pushed open the door, a tray full of food in her hands. She used her foot to kick the door shut behind her, putting the tray down on the small eating before she returned to bar the door.

  
“I wish I could bar the door behind me, I hate when you fall asleep before I leave so you can’t do it.” Shae sighed, worried about the men that could easily come into her chambers after she was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa found herself saying.

  
“You’re a Lady, I don’t expect you to wait to sleep on account of me. Besides, you were exhausted last night.” Shae gave a shrug.

  
“I do have guards.” Sansa reminded Shae. Lord Tyrion had a few men who had come to respect him or was loyal by gold, that he had ordered to watch and protect Sansa. They were under strict instruction to only allow those whose names he had given them visitation to Sansa and to turn away any men from the King.

  
“And if someone with more gold and influence gives them an offer than what the imp is giving them they’ll be busting through the door rather than guarding it. Have I taught you nothing!” Shae hissed.

  
“Yes, your right.” Sansa nodded solemnly.

  
Shae wished the world was different but it wasn’t and she wanted to make sure that Sansa was smart enough not to think she was safe when she really wasn’t.

  
“Not lets get you fed and dressed for the day. Come to the table now.” she gently told her.

  
Sansa didn’t move.

  
“I don’t think I can.” Sansa said sitting up, giving a pained moaned as her legs tingled as she dragged them to sit.

  
“Your legs?” she asked, going over to the bed. Now on closer inspection she could see the terrible swelling of her thighs. It was absolutely dreadful.

  
“I will summon maester right away. They did far more than just bruise you.” Shae said with fury.

  
Damn this place and damn that boy king, she could only think to herself.

  
Rushing to the door she pulled it open and looked at one of the men.

  
“You, get the Maester my lady’s legs are the sigh of piglets and she’s in pain. Now!” she added to the demand to get him to move when he made to argue. That she would not have.

  
After she saw the man run off she went back to Sansa. She took the tray of food and laid it close beside Sansa so that she could reach it. She took one of Sansa’s fine and embroidered handkerchiefs and placed it on Sansa lap so that she did not get crumbs all over herself.

  
“Eat.” Shae urged, accent thick.

Sansa did as she was told.

  
After Shae was satisfied with the amount Sansa consumed she moved to sit at an angle behind Sansa. She brushed her hair and twisted the sides while pulling them back, meeting and tying her hair with a small piece of ribbon. It was how Sansa wore her hair recently, simple and easy, back from her face with the rest elegantly over her shoulders.

  
After she was done she wiped any sweat from Sansa face, chest and arms as they could not move her to bring her to the baths.

  
It felt like hours before Maester Pycelle finally arrived and with him was Lord Tyrion. Bronn stood outside the room with the other men.

  
“My dear, Sansa.” Tyrion began sympathetically.

  
I was with Pycelle when your guard came to summon his aide. I hope you don’t mind that if I came with him?” he asked.

  
“It’s an honor to host you in my chambers, though I do wish I was more presentable.” she told him smoothing the soft linen and lace of her nightgown.

  
At the mention of her dress Shae hurried and took a thicker silk and satin robe and hung it over Sansa’s shoulders. She was not thanked, but Sansa gave her a little bob of the chin.

  
“Let us see those legs of yours.” Pycelle spoke, tapping the blankets by her ankle.

  
Sansa swallowed and folded quilts back from her legs.

  
“Oh my.” said Pycelle. He leaned forward, and examined her legs closely, touching the darkened and bloated legs.

  
“What is it?” Sansa asked terrified of his reaction.

  
“You will walk again, but we must operate.” he told her. “The King had you sit on your legs for hours for the bludgeoning of your legs. This swelling was caused by clots that have formed in your legs. This has blocked the flow of your blood from your legs which resulted in the numbness and pain that you feel. I have to remove the clot if you wish to remedy the feeling and swelling.”

  
“Worse, if the clot break off on it’s own and travel to your lungs and heart, it will kill you.” Sansa gasped.

Terrified she quickly snatched out her hand and took hold of Shae’s wrist.

  
“It’s that serious!?” Tyrion joined in with his own horror.

  
“I am afraid so.” Pycelle nodded. “I will prepare what is needed. It should not take long and when I am done I will summon the Lady Sansa. Someone will have to bring her to me. “

  
Leaving together Tyrion followed Pycelle down the hall and just before the two separated said to him. “If you let that girl die, or poison her, I will make sure you follow very shortly after her.”

  
Tyrion had planned to speak with Sansa about her new engagement to Khal Drogo. She was meant to leave in just a few days time.

  
“How long will it take for her to heal after the surgery?” he needed to ask. His concern was far Sansa of course, but Cersei had already made Joffrey aware of their plans to marry Sansa to Khal Drogo. If they wished for her to arrive to him before he could reach Daenerys Targaryen first then she would need to set sail right away.

  
“The duration of her journey across the narrow sea will be suffice time. She will have healed completely by the time she docks. I will make recommendations after the surgery that may prevent any further discomfort.” he told The Hand.

  
“This such thing is much more common in those who are elderly and immobile. I believe it was merely the positioning in which she took her punishment that has caused the state of her legs.” he explained.

  
“Punishment? She has done nothing to justify what Joffrey did to her as a ‘punishment’!” spat Tyrion.

  
Pycelle gave an uncomfortable cough.

  
“As I was saying, she is a healthy young woman and I believe because of this her current condition will be of no future ailment to her. She will be fine, my lord.”

Tyrion stared long and hard at the man. “Than it’s best you start preparing what you need.”

  
“Yes, my lord.” And Pycelle hobbled off.


	3. 3

The surgery was a success. It took only a few hours for Pycelle to gather what he needed and Tyrion had Podric carry Sansa to Pycelle's chambers. The young lad was blushing like a maid while holding Sansa. The lady herself called him sweet for it.

  
Tyrion had made sure that neither Joffrey or Cersei heard of the news of Sansa's surgery and in the case they did he had arranged distractions for the both of them. Sansa could not be concerned with them if she was to be in a serene state of mind when she took her milk of the poppy. Shae had been concerned about giving the girl so much. But Pycelle assured them all it was the a measured dose based on her body type and age so it would only keep her asleep for the duration of the surgery and just enough time after to properly stitch the surgical opening and bandage them before she woke.

  
Tyrion had never seen Shae so upset as they waited for Sansa’s surgery to end. She was silent, contemplating and no matter what he did he could not make her smile. He was usually very good at that. He wouldn’t understand until later that night what had been going on through her head at that time.

  
After Sansa woke up, Shae took care of her as she always did. She didn’t leave her side unless to get herself or Sansa food or make water. She had even slept in Sansa’s chambers in case she woke and needed something.

Pycelle told them in the days until her departure, she would he able to stand some. A set of crutches were being made for her to help her walk. The Maester on the ship would know how to take out her stitches and it was recommend she wore stockings for the duration of their time at sea. The pressure would help her legs he explained. He also advised that she did not just sit around and that she made sure to take walks around the ship.

  
It was the day after her surgery when the King finally came. He came in with a flourish, his men behind him, more than she had guarding her.

  
“What terrible luck you have, at least your legs will still be good enough to spread for your Dothraki husband.” Sansa paled at his words.

  
“Your Grace, I don’t understand?” and she didn’t.

  
“I would have thought my Uncle told you already. We’re shipping you off to marry Khal Drogo. You see the dragon bastard wants to marry his sister to him to get the savages army and we just can’t have that.” he ended with a mocking smile as if that fact was obvious.

  
“So we’re going to send you to marry him before she can and in exchange he’ll keep his barbarians to himself and lend them to no one else.” he continued to explain.

But he wasn't done tormenting her.

  
“I hear they fuck their horses. Maybe they’ll have one of them fuck you too when the Khal is done with you. I made sure you can still carry a child, so you best keep him happy and birth him a son and keep both the savage and his runt from my kingdom.” he said, holding her hand and squeezing it tight enough to hurt.

  
Shae hated that she couldn’t stab the cunt through the eye and instead had to watch silent as he terrorized her lady. It was a great relief when he finally left.

  
“I’m so sorry,” she said to Sansa later when the girl was curled in her arms sobbing. “I am so, so sorry my sweet girl.”

  
When Tyrion had come to visit her after being notified of the King’s own, he arrived to the sight of Shae wiping Sansa’s tears away with a cold cloth so her eyes did not swell and redden.

  
“My lady, I am sorry I had wished to tell you myself in hopes it would spare you--”

  
“Spare me from what!?” The glasses of wine Sansa had taken earlier to help some of the after pain made her bolder.

  
“From the mockery and humiliation I am sure Joffrey made sure to lace his informative visit with.” the little lord continued, speaking with clear disapproval.

  
“I was going to summon you to break your fast with me and tell you then, but than we learned of the condition of your legs and I held off, to give you some time to recover. I apologize, I should have come to you the moment you had regained your clarity.” he bowed in apology but that was not enough to appease Sansa.

  
“And when may I ask, as the King so kindly put it, be shipped off to my Dothraki betrothed?”

  
At the question Tyrion hopped up on one of the cushioned seat at Sansa’s small eating table, poured himself a glass of wine, drank the entirety of the glass and then at last answered.

  
“In two days times, you’ll leave in the morn. The crew and ship has been preparing for your departure for the last sennight.” he refilled his crystal.

Sansa gave a hollow laugh. “Of course!”

  
The look she gives him breaks his heart. It was a look of pure defeat and acceptance.

  
“It is not all for the worst, My lady.” he tries to find some light to shine on this new engagement of hers. “After nearly being here for two years you’ll finally be free of this place, free from Joffrey.”

  
It had not been a full two years yet and in fact if felt like five had passed her by in the Red Keep.

  
“I have tried to keep Joffrey away from you, keep him entertained and distracted with other matters. But it seems as my duties as the Hand Grow I am failing you more miserably than ever if your legs are not proof enough of that.” he looked at the quilts over her legs. She was still on bed rest.

  
“And why have you helped me, a daughter and sister of traitors?” she eyed him warily.

  
“I respected parents greatly and as I once told your brother, Bran, when he asked me the same question; I have soft spot for cripples, bastards and broken things.”

  
“You happen to be two of those things now, making the spot in my little heart for you even softer than for most.” he admitted with a grin and soft bitter laugh.

  
“I’ve nearly become all three?” she looked down at her own legs, wiggling her toes some.

  
He chuckled and nodded. “I suppose so.”

  
There was a moment of silence as the two regarded one another and Shae brought out a tray of some fruit and cheese to go with the wine for both Tyrion and Sansa. She had requested another glass of her own, but Shae did not fill it to the same amount as Tyrion would his own cup.

  
“I’ll never see my family again.” the defeat was back, sorrow sweeping in as Sansa took a large swig from her glass. “I’ll never go home. At least before I had some--”

  
Hope. Before she at least had some hope of getting back home. She thought but did not say the words. Despite her deflated faith in her brother she still believed that one day Robb would rescue her like he did when they used to play pretend as children. Robb was always dashing knight that would gallantly save her from Theon or Jon who would be forced to play the monster or villain.

  
“No, I don’t believe you ever will.” Tyrion shook his head sadly. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever get back to Casterly Rock, be it’s Lord as should be right when his father returned and took back his place as Hand of the King.

  
“The free cities can be very different from our kingdom, of the North, but you’ll be safe and if you're strong as you have been thus far you can make a new life for yourself.” he told her.

  
“Khal Drogo may be---” he tried to think of the best word. “Uncivilized to what you're accustomed to in the men you’ve met, but I don’t think that he’ll hurt you, not like Joffrey has. And their wives are well protected from others. You will not be touched.”

  
He was trying to ease her fears as he recalled the many things he’s read on the Dothraki. It did not seem to be working very well.

  
“And if this Khal Drogo doesn’t like me, what will become of me if I don’t marry him?” she asked, stealing herself to look him in the eyes once more, her steel mask of courtesy and courage strongly in place.

  
Tyrion lowered his voice to a whisper but still loud enough for Sansa to hear. “Then I will arrange it so that you disappear in the night with a bag of jewels, un-followed and all of Essos to make a new life wherever you choose.”

  
In this world, it was hard to trust or even love anyone beside oneself. Shae had helped teach her that. It was safer that way.

  
“You would truly do that, for me?” she asked warily.

  
“For you, my dear, it is the least I can do after all my family has done to you and yours.” he said and then lounged back in his chair, taking another sip of his wine before a bite of the chicken that Shae had brought as the midday approached.

  
They don’t speak much more after that, Tyrion told her he would have some of the books on the Free cities, their language and most importantly about the Dothraki to be brought to her chamber and if she wished she could bring them with her when she went. She gave him a lackluster thank you, not feeling very appreciative at the moment.

  
“My mother and father would never have approved of this marriage.” Sansa spoke after having another glass of wine. “Father promised me a man that was good, and kind when he wanted us to leave Kings Landing. I had laughed and said that I didn’t want a good and kind man, I wanted Joffrey.”

  
She gave a very unladylike snort.

  
“Father would have had me marry a northern lord, a Karstark or Umber.” her words were a grumbling complaint.

  
Tyrion raised his eyebrows smirking against the rim of his glass as he witnessed and inebriated Sansa Stark.  
“Mother wanted a southern match, a Redwyne or a Tyrell even!” her head bobbed a little. “I wouldn’t have minded a Tyrell husband like Ser Loras. But there was talk of possible proposal from one of Walder Freys sons.”

  
Sansa made a pinched face, like she had eaten something particularly sour.

  
“My father would think me lucky to marry a Frey girl. Walder has a dozen daughters I hear, he practically gives them away.” Tyrion joined with a chuckle of his own.

  
“But have you met a Frey?” the question came out a little slurred.

  
“My lady, perhaps that’s enough wine.” Shae tried to tell her, reaching for the cup, but Sansa just waved her away.

  
“Haven’t had the pleasure.”

  
“I hear their a weasley lot. But mother always spoke highly of them. Lord Walder knew her as a girl.” Her head rolled and she leaned back on her pillows, head tilted back on them.

  
“If I didn’t marry one of his son's, mother thought that Robb should marry one his daughters.”

  
Tyrion hummed. “Yes, I could see the advantage to that.”

  
“The North would have nearly 4,000 men behind it with that marriage.” he took a long drink, thinking of the possible outcome if Catelyn Stark began to whisper marriage options into her sons ear to grow his army.

  
As if realizing the implications of what she she looked Sharply and a little panicked at Lord Tyrion. She cleared her throat and tried to school her face. “But he’s a traitor, no right minded good family would marry their daughter to him.”

  
“No, I suppose they wouldn’t.” he said to humor her and ease he anxiety she might be feeling by her mere suggestion of Robb marrying.

  
He asked her a question. “Who did you want to marry, before Joffrey.”

  
“Truthfully, I was quite fond of my father's ward. We grew up together, he was handsome and though he did like to spent a fair amount of time at the whore house, he was kind and gentleman to me always. I think we were both under the impression that my father might have married us before Joffrey came.” she gave a smile and a dreamy sigh thinking a little of Theon.

  
“Theon has always been Rob's best man, they would finally be brothers if we had married. If I married Theon I at least knew my brother would approve.” she started to frown. 

  
“I always thought my brother loved me, I thought he would go to war to rescue me. My father did for his sister, if it was Ser Jaime he would go to war to rescue her, even Cersei offered to trade me for him and my brother said no. He said no at the only chance of getting me back.” she wiped a tear from her eye as it was falling.

  
“He said no to even Arya and everyone's always loved Arya more. She was different, wild and never did as she was told when I always did. Yet that made her special, Jon loved her, father loved her, I think everyone but mother loved her more than me.”

  
Tyrion and Shae shared an uncomfortable look.

  
“It always scared me, how much people seemed to like her more than me. I don’t know why and I think that was why I was so mean to her. I think I was jealous.”

  
Shae rolled her eyes at Sansa’s petty complaints about her sister.

  
“You are very self centered, my lady, it’s not possible for you to be loved the most by the most. It’s not a competition!” Shae’s patience snapped and she snatched Sansa’s glass away from her finally.

  
“You’re right.” Sansa bobbed her head in a uncomfortable looking nodd.

  
“I thought if I married Joffrey, if I was queen than everyone would have to love me the most. And I swore, after everything that happened, my father's head cut from his shoulders and the queen's words about making sure people feared you more than they did you're enemy. I thought; When I am queen, I will make them love me.”

  
“But I would give up all and any love in this world if I could just see her one more time and tell her how sorry I am. For everything.” Sansa sniffled and dropped her head back, staring at the ceiling and when the tears came again she put her hands over her face to hide it.

  
“I don’t even know if she’s alive and now I am going across the sea, even farther from home than even I am here, and I’ll never find out!” she gave a hideous sounding sob.

  
Tyrion dropped from his chair and moved towards Sansa’s bed.

  
“I promise you if I hear that your sister lives I will find a way to get word to you.” Tyrion said to her.

  
“Do you hate her?” Sansa suddenly asked.

  
“Your sister?” he asked confused. Why on earth would he hate Arya Stark.

  
“No, yours.” Tyrion was honestly taken by surprise. “She’s said such horrible things about and to you. Did cruel things to you. I said horrible things to Arya, belittled her. If she’s alive, I’m scared she hates me.”

  
“I doubt your sister hates you either.” he tried to comfort her, not answering her question. “We’re alike in that way, you and I. We are hopeful in those we shouldn’t be and when that hope gets too high it falls down on our heads like a war hammer.”

  
“It’s safer to see the worst in people than the best.” Shae said in a whisper. But Tyrion heard her and he nodded.

  
With that advice he finally left Sansa’s chambers.

  
‘I am the daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, I am a Tully of the Riverlands through my mother, and Stark of the North through my father, I am the sister of the King in the North. If they can all be brave, I can too.’ Sansa thought later when her head was clear and she was writing a letter that would never be read.

  
Once the ink was dry she sealed it and tucked it in a place she felt confident no one would actually stumble upon. It was never truly meant to be read but it did need to be written.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since Sansa didn't get to meet Margerary in this, I wanted to substitute her with someone else.

Her crutches were crafted quicker than she had expected. She spent the short days before she left using them to get go out into the gardens. She had received the books Tyrion had offered her and was practicing the Dothraki tongue with a curious Myrcella who had overheard her. Just above Cersei watched them from the terrace of her room.

  
“Do you think, if maybe I married your brother Robb, it would end the war between our houses? Marriages end wars all the time I read.” Myrcella has said, her voice hushed as she glanced at her mother and smiled.

  
Sansa looked out her shocked and a little horrified, not that Sansa would have ever objected to Myrcella being her good sister.

  
“Oh, Myrcella…”Sansa trailed off with sympathy.

  
“I hate all this fighting, and i know what they say about him, but he was so kind and polite. He’s also very handsome, I don’t think I would mind at all being married to him, though I don’t much like the cold of the North.” she started to trail off.

  
Sansa put a hand over hers.

  
“I hate it to, Princess.” Sansa patted her knuckles. “But you should marry a man who is a loyal lord to your family and not a traitor like my brother.”

  
Myrcella opened her pretty lips to argue, but then pressed them together and sighed through her nose. Giving up.

  
“What brought this on?” Sansa asked, concerned with where Myrcella’s thoughts were directed.

  
“I think my mother is going to send me away...far away.” the princess glanced at her mother again her smile much weaker this time. “And my brother too.”

  
“I think it’s Uncle Tyrion’s idea.” she said looking sad and frustrated. “I think he scared of this war, that something might happen to us. I don’t want to leave though, I want to stay with my mother and brother.”  
Sansa noticed she didn’t end brothers with a plural. She didn’t mention it.

  
“People don’t like my mother very much and I’m more scared for her than me.” Myrcella admitted.

  
“Can I tell you a secret, Princess, that you must promise not to tell anyone?” Sansa leaned close to her face, heads practically touching.

  
“Yes.” Myrcella eagerly whispered.

  
Sansa took a deep breath and than spoke.“I’m scared for my mother too, I know she’s a traitor but..”  
“She’s still your mother.” Myrcella finished her sentence.

  
“I’m sorry Joffs hurt you, Sansa, he shouldn’t do that.” Myrcella’s golden curls bobbed as she shook her head, glancing at Sansa’ legs

  
“I deserve it, for what my brothers done.” Sansa looked away shamefully.

  
“I hope your new betrothed is kinder to you.” Myrcella squeezed her hand.

  
“Thank you, Princess.” Sansa said and pressed her forehead to Myrcella’s. She hadn’t had much time to sit with Myrcella since her father's beheading except for at meals when the royal children specifically asked for her or Cersei wanted to play her games and belittle her before her children.

  
“Shall we practice again,” the sweet blonde girl leaned back and turned the next page in the book. “Though I’ve never been very good at tongues.”

  
No, but Sansa thought she was perfect in every other way. The princess was braver than any of her brothers, and brighter and more confident as well. Her wits were quicker, her courtesies more polished. Nothing daunted her, not even joffrey. Sansa admired the younger girl.

  
They laughed as they butchered the gruff language but tried their hardest to get it right all the same. Shae watched over them with some other maids and Myrcella’s guards. They were well protected and under the unblinking, watchful gaze of the queen herself.

  
“I have a surprise for you, Sansa!” Myrcella announced when a new made arrived and whispered something into her ear. Her smile was dazzling and beautiful, her teeth as white as pearls. The rich could afford maesters that prescribed methods to healthy teeth that those of lower class could not afford.

  
“Oh, no, princess I am not deserving of whatever you could have done for me. Your company is enough.”

Sansa said, glancing uncertain and afraid up at the queen.

  
“Nonsense. You're going to be a bride and you need new gowns. I called my seamstress and she just arrived to take your measurements.” Myrcella stood and took Sansa’s hands, helping pull her up while Shae rushed to meet Sansa with her crutches when she got to her feet.

  
“Truly, Myrcella, I can’t accept such a gift. The dresses I have now are suitable enough.” Sansa protested even as Shae helped her follow the princess back into the castle.

  
“No offense, Sansa, but your dresses are out of style now and look two small on you.” she scrunched her nose.  
“And don’t you want to look nice for your husband?” she asked teasingly.

  
“Well, of course,” was Sansa’s natural response after years of preparing to be the very best for her betrothed.  
“Than I will not accept another word from you unless it is to thank me.” Myrcella winked.

  
“Very well. Thank you for your most generous gift.” she sighed and smiled, deciding that all she could do was go along with her.

  
“You’re going to look so beautiful!” Myrcella gave a delightful trill, her voice melodious.

  
Sansa’s smile grew more genuine, and the feel of soft silk and satin on her skin felt wonderful after her old clothes.

  
Gowns of pale blue, apricot and lavender even a a few grey gowns were commissioned to be finished before she set sale. The seamstress did stress over the time frame she was given, but rest assured the princess it would be done and delivered as requested. They were all beautiful, the fabrics like heaven against her skin. The sleeves were long, usually of sheer billowing fabric or cinched at the wrist with ribbon at the wrist. The neck lines were wide and sometimes plunging, the designs similar to what she had been seeing the other women at court wearing recently.

  
Winter was coming but the weather was bright and hot. Sansa had always worn very modest fashions like her mother. Simple, quaint yet beautiful designs in her houses colors with long heavy sleeves. Her body was very much a mystery beneath her clothes until Joffrey had them ripped off of her, leaving her with only her hands to cover herself.

  
Her mother had once said when she noticed that one of the new gowns Sansa had been making showed a little more of the top of her budding breasts for her liking. “Modesty of the body holds more respect and power than a whore’s spread legs.”

  
Myrcella was truly spoiling her and Sansa truly loved her gifts but she feared if they would be suitable for her new life. From what Sansa learned of the Dothraki it was a life on horseback and through the terrains where her downs would be dirtied and snagged. She asked, if possible, Myrcella could order her some rolls of soft linen, leather and other fabrics that she may use for embroidery and to perhaps make a wedding gift for her betrothed.

  
Myrcella was more than delighted to grant the request.

  
Sansa would indeed make something for her betrothed, perhaps a tunic. But she also wanted to use the fabric for herself as well. She was always a talented seamstress and made a number of her gowns back in Winterfell herself. It would keep her hands busy and she couldn’t come up with a design that would be both fitting for a lady of her caliber and yet practical for her new life. It was an exciting challenge she was looking forward to.

  
The girls spent the rest of the day in each others company. It was one of the nicest days Sansa had in Kings Landing. After her own maids from Winterfell had been taken away and the ones she was given by the queen dwindled to only Shae, she had been craving the company of another Lady.

  
Shae was wonderful, but she was not highborn and Sansa craved the conversation that she could only have with someone of her own birth. Myrcella spoke of petty court gossip, scandals amongst some of the houses. Things she thought might amuse Sansa.

  
Myrcella liked Sansa, she was proper and cordial and though she had been obsessed with Joffrey when they first met, something that had concerned Myrcella during their stay in Winterfell, she welcomed the idea of Sansa being her sister. All she had were brothers, Joffrey was terrible and Tommen was happy to spend all his times with his kittens and so was not very good company. Having this time with Sansa was very nice for her.

  
She felt terrible about how the older girl has suffered. People told her it was not her concern, that Sansa was a traitor's daughter and that her brother was trying to kill Joffrey. Myrcella, who had tried to spend as much time with Robb as possible when they were at Winterfell, felt very confused when it came to the Starks. Sansa had seemed so devoted to Sansa, her father had loved her father like a brother and their house had always been loyal to the Baratheons.

  
If only Joffrey had not cut off Lord Eddard Starks head. Of course Myrcella would never speak such thoughts allowed.

  
Instead the blooming princess smiled and did her best to distract and make Sansa happy during her short remainder in Kings Landing. They did all of Sansa favorite things, they embroidered and sang, walked through the gardens and even prayed some. The Queen mother detested it, but Myrcella put her foot down. There would be no interruption of her and Sansa’s time together, and seeing as Myrcella rarely asked much of her mother thus the Queen, who loved her daughter so very much, allowed the brief friendship with the assuring knowledge the she-wolf would soon be far from all of them and she would soon after be forgotten by her daughter.

  
Myrcella and Tommen were the sweetest the sweetes, purest children that it was almost unbelievable that they were hers and Jamies. Joffrey made sense, his wickedness was all her. He was their punishment. But her other two, they were good and kind children and she loved nothing in the world more than them.

  
That was why she was seriously considering Tyrion’s advice to send them away.

  
Cersei truly had believed that the safest place her children could be was with her. She had the walls of the keep, the Queen's guard and her father and sons army’s. Yet if they were somehow defeated, she would not see her children suffer the same fate as Elia Martell. Stannis would not risk keeping her children alive and having them return in the future for his head. It was why her father had did what he did to Elia Martell's children, why Joffrey allowed not a single one of his father's bastards to live another day. It was the best way to secure the future of your house and it’s reign on a throne such as the Iron one.

  
“I do hope you enjoy your time with the princess, Sansa, for you shall never have such civilized company as her own once you are married to the savage.” Cersei has snatched Sansa’s arm, nearly causing her to drop her crutch as she was stopped so those words could be whispered to her.

  
“Of course, your grace, and how I will miss such fine company as the princess’s.” her perfect mask was put in place as she smiled at the queen. “But I am a traitor's daughter and do not deserve such attention from her highness.”

  
“No, you don’t. But you have received it, so you would do well to keep my daughter happy.” Cersei’s word were a threat that Sansa understood very well.

  
She nodded.

  
The girls enjoyed every second with one another, that day was one filled with the sweet, innocent laughter of two young girls. It was one of the most calm, and peaceful days Sansa would ever experience in King’s Landing, and possibly her only fond memory of the place when she looked back.

  
That night, the Queen invited Sansa to dine with her and the children. Joffrey would be supping alone by his choosing, his mother unable to convince him otherwise.

  
The dinner was otherwise pleasant, the queen drank as she always did, the prince and princess chattered on about the day. Prince Tommen told tales of his lessons and kittens, Myrcella spoke of their dress fitting and of the gowns she had ordered for herself.

  
She had been promised new dresses for Sansa’s wedding to Joffrey, but as the wedding was called off to send Sansa to another suitor, and Myrcella had been so excited Cersei obviously could not deny her new gowns because after she promised. She allowed Mycella a dozen new dresses.

  
Sansa had been fitted for only ten, but she had no complaints. It was plenty and Myrcella promised to supply her with fabric as well.

  
“Speaking of such things, you will be staying with a prosperous tradesman your first nights in Myr. He is the largest supplier of Myrish lace. I was even so kind as to have his wife design your wedding gown.” Cersei smile was like a cold blade, her kindness not kindness, but mockery.

  
“Thank you, your grace, I do not deserve such wonderful gifts from you and the princess.” Sansa bowed her head to them, also so that she could avoid looking at Cersei’s calculating emerald eyes.

  
Sansa wished Shae was with her, at least in the corner. Her presence brought her so much comfort sometimes. Especially in the face of the Queen. But Shae had the night off. She thought of the moment they had shared before she was called to supe with the Queen and her children.

  
She was to leave on the morrow, and though Shae would see her off in the morning it was the only time they had to really say their farewells to one another.

  
Sansa had given Shae a parting gift. From her own neck she tookt he dragonfly pendant she always wore.  
“It’s not my finest of jewels, but it is my very favorite. I want you to have it.” Sansa had told her when she held it up for Shae to see.

  
“My lady, I can’t---” Shae had tried to argue, but Sansa would not hear it, interrupting her.

  
“You can, it’s a gift, a reward for your loyalty and friendship.” Sansa encouraged, moving to step in front of Shae and bringing the ends of the chain to the back of Shae’s neck, quickly clasping the ends and laying the pendant smooth just below the hollow of Shae’s neck.

  
Sansa grinned as she stepped back to get a better look.”Yes, it’s perfect on you.”

  
“My lady---”

  
Sansa raised a hand to stop her once more.

  
“Please, take it, I don’t have much to give anymore and I truly want you to have it.” Sansa begged gently, not wanting to plead so much as to be embarrassing.

  
Shae saw that Sansa meant well, that she truly gave such a gift to her because she wanted to and made her happy to do so. So she sighed and smiled, and said. “Alright, I accept your gift, if it would please you, my lady.”

  
“It would, Shae, and I hope you think of me always as a friend as I will always think of you.”

  
“Oh my sweet girl, forever I will think of you, my little wolf.” she had kissed both of Sansa’s cheeks and held her close until she left for the night after she saw to Sansa’s arrival to the Queen's chambers.

  
Shae went to Tyrion like she did most nights to warm his bed and enjoy each other's company with clever barbs and talk of their day. When she arrived to his chambers, Bronn let her inside, Podrick dismissed for the night.

  
“Ah, Shae!” Tyrion smiled when he saw her walk in. He was sitting behind his desk, papers in front of him and quill in hand. He looked tired she noted, very tired.

  
“Sansa is leaving tomorrow, have you said your goodbyes?” he asked gently. “I know you’ve become quite taken with Sansa,”

  
Shae did not answer him, instead she ducked her head and he took it for a nod.

  
“I will have to think of where to place you now, perhaps I can have you join Myrcella’s handmaidens, she’s a very sweet girl---”

  
“I’m leaving with Sansa.” she spoke quickly, she had to before she changed her mind. She had thought all the way from Sansa’s rooms to the Tower of the Hand. She clutched the new pendant around her throat.

  
“What?” he asked, baffled, his face crumpling along with his heart.

  
“I’m so sorry, I have to protect her.” Shae rubbed her lips together, her throat tight as she felt the unfamiliar prick of tears at her eyes. It had been so long since she last cried.

  
“Shae, I know you’re fond of Sansa but---”

  
“She has no one she can trust, no friends, I’m all she has!” she took in a shuddering breath before continuing. “I can’t just let her be shipped off alone.”

  
“My dear, be reasonable--” he tried to plead with her, reaching out and taking her hands in his, looking up at her beautiful face.

  
“I love that girl, I would kill for her,---"

  
“You would leave me for her?” he cut her off.

  
“I love you, I do, I love you in the way a whore should never love the man who pays her. No good ever comes from it, but I do, I love you and I have to leave you for the sake of us both.”

  
“Shae---” He looked heartbroken and taken by surprised.

  
She kissed him, effectively silencing him. They kissed for a long time, the only time she let herself cry because his eyes were closed and he couldn’t see her. She kissed him till her tears dried and then lead him to the bed, doing what she did best that she knew would comfort them both for a little while. On the bed, she laid him on his back, stripping him of his clothes and kissing him quiet whenever he tried to speak. Right now all she wanted was to hear him moan.

  
He was already at half mast, and she had little trouble bringing his cock to full hardness with her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head like she knew he loved. He let out a guttural moan, long and loud and she knew his eyes were rolling in his head. She continued to bob her head, sucking him deep into the back of her mouth until she knew he was close to release. Then she pulled off, earning a protesting whine. She only smiled and shook her head, crawling back up and lifting up her skirts. She wore no small clothes underneath, and was able to take him immediately inside of her.

  
She threw her head back, untied the neck of her gown and let it drop, exposing her pert breasts, bouncing gently as she moved herself up and down on top of Tyrion. He sat up under her, his hands going to her breast and hips.

  
He kissed her belly, teasing her skin with the soft torture of his lips while he pinched and rolled her nipples between his fingers that had her gasping, she practically shrieked when he brought one of those fingers to the bud of her cunt. She panted as she dropped down onto him, riding him until they were both so close and so frantic and then Tyrion used all his weight to flip her onto her back. He grabbed her legs and hoisted them up onto his shoulders, driving deep into her wet cunt.

  
They fucked one another as if it were both there last night alive. They forgot what had been said, nothing else existed but them and the bed beneath them. They ravaged one another, fucked and made love all through the night, reaching completion multiple times until finally they had no more stamina and collapsed.

  
Shae had fucked him tired and she giggled as she watched his eyes flutter close as he faded away into slumber, despite his struggle to stay awake and talk to her about what she had said earlier. She shushed him, kissing him gently on his lips, and his face all over until he could not fight the pull of sleep any longer and her lion began to softly snore. She stayed up, just watching him for the longest time at peace in his unconscious state. She cried over him, sobbed and muffled her crying in the duvet so she wouldn’t wake him. When she was done, she kissed him one last time and left his bed for her own small chambers.

  
In the door, she turned and looked back and said to him even though he could not hear her confession. “I love you, my Lion and I will always be yours.”

  
Then she was gone. In her small chambers she changed from her handmaidens dress and to into her night shift. She blew out the few candles she had and tucked herself beneath her thin linens, dropping her head onto the pillows she closed her eyes.


	5. 5

Sansa watched as maids packed what little belongings she had in trunks. In her lap she held the doll her father had bought for her from the same maker of the princess dolls. She had been angry at him, as it was insult to her maturity that he would get her something so childish. She wished she could go back, smile and thank him for the gift instead of being ungrateful.

  
She smoothed the golden straw hair and rubbed the beaded eyes until they shined. When the maids were just about to close the last trunk, she stopped and placed the doll on the top.

  
Sansa was wearing one of the new gowns Myrcella had gifted her. It had been just the right size and needed no alterations so Myrcella quickly pushed the gown and a few others into Sansa’s arms. The princess had informed her that her custom gowns would be put in a separate trunk and placed on the ship at their finishing.

  
“Are you ready, my lady, they have prepared a horse to take you to the ship.” Shae had entered the room after two men took one of the last of her trunks.

  
“Can you braid my hair, Shae, one last time. I like the way you do it best?” she asked the woman.  
Shae smiled. “Of course, my lady.”

  
She came to stand behind Sansa and began by brushing her hair through before she began. Inspired by what Sansa had told her of how her mother had used to braid Sansa’s hair, she made a single braid at the top of Sansa’s head right down the middle and gathered the ends, twisting it into a bun. She then braided the rest into a singular braid that Sansa wore over her shoulder.

  
She looked like a Northerner again.

  
“Thank you.” she stood from her chair and reached out, gently taking Shae’s hand in hers. “I’m going to miss this.”

  
“No you won’t ,” Shae shook her head. “Because I’m coming with you, so I will be with you everyday.”

  
“Why would you do that, why would you leave to be with me? I can’t pay where I am going, I can’t provide---”

  
“Because I love you silly girl, I love you like my own even though I shouldn’t and I will not abandoned you when you need me most.” she grasped her pale face between her hands, looking deep into Sansa’s eyes. Her thumbs quickly wiped the under of her eyes when the stupid girl began to cry.

  
“Now none of that, we must be strong more than ever.” she kissed Sansa’s cheek and pulled her close into tight embrace.

  
“Now, we must go. The horse is ready and the party accompany are not patient.” Shae urged her and the two women left the room without looking back.

  
A party of a few kingsguard waited for her, a litter with the King and his mother and siblings rode guarded up front while Sansa was behind the cart with her things, practically on her own but for Tyrion in a small litter of his own, carried by two men, Podrick on one side and Bronn on the other beside her as she rode side saddle on her horse.

  
It was a relatively silent journey to the ship. Sansa tried to keep herself composed feeling so excited to be leaving this level of hell she had been forced to endure for the last year. It may not be home she was leaving for but it at least was far from Cersei and her terrible son. She would not be tortured and mocked, her brothers achievements not used as excuse to be punished. Sansa may be set to marry a man who did not even speak her tongue, who was far from any suitor she could imagine as a girl or now, but she would be far more free as his bride than she would if she were any mans in Westeros.

  
she looked through the windows at the starving people, fighting one another for a scrap of bread or meat the size of their fingernail. Winter was killing the crops, all the food was being stored for the Keeps personal use. It was terrible, and nothing at all was being done about. The people might very well die even before Stannis arrived. She wondered what would be the quicker and more merciful death for them.

  
When they arrived at the ship, they were told to wait on docks for the royal family and council to send them off.

  
Sandor looked down at her, his unburnt brow raised before he gave a nod.

  
“I thought you would smile more, little bird. You can finally open those pretty wings of yours.”

  
“I couldn’t possibly smile when I am to leave my beloved, Joffrey.” she answered, though the tone of her voice didn't seem to agree very much with what she actually said.

  
Sandor scoffed. “No need for your pretty little songs anymore, little bird.”

  
“You might be interested to hear that direwolves have been seen heading south of the wall, leaving. Something is scaring them off.” he told her in a low voice. Her head whipped up to look at him, her face pinched with confused surprise. “It’s probably best that you're leaving now.”

  
“What could possibly scare off a direwolf?” she asked him, her own question making the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Direwolves were great beasts, large and strong with the natural instincts that have kept them alive for thousands of years on the other side of The Wall.

  
“I don’t know, but the Nightwatch has been asking for more men. What ever monsters they're fighting at that frozen hell, it has the animals running.” he told her.

  
Sansa thought of Jon and Ghost at the Wall, of Bran and Rickon in Winterfell alone. So close to whatever threat the Land of Always Winter held. She closed her eyes and pictured the walls of Winterfell, tall and strong, having stood for thousands of years. They would not fall, her brothers would be safe, the men there would protect them and the walls would keep their enemies out. Jon was a good fighter, he was strong as Robb if not better even. Sometimes, on her way to her lessons she would stop and watch them outside in the courtyard sparing.

  
Jon would kill the monsters.

  
Sansa’s attention was drawn to as a steward announced the king as he and his family at last exited their litter to say their farewells to her. Everyone were quick to drop what they were doing to bow their respects to the king.

  
The King approached her first, placing his ringed hands on her shoulders, squeezing them hard, digging in his nails until she couldn’t help but wince. She smiled through it though and tried to make her eyes look sad.  
Joffrey gritted his teeth as Sansa continued to smile, looking at him with innocent question. He took a hand from her shoulder, the grip of his other hand tightening, fingernails scratching her fles. He touched her cheek gently reminding her of the day they had kissed. She wanted to bite his nose from his face as her skin crawled with disgust.

  
“I know you must be very upset as you were so looking forward to our marriage.” he attempted to look sympathetic, but it only looked mocking on him. “We would have had such a beautiful wedding, like none this kingdom has ever seen. Now you’ll wed on sept built of shit and witnessed by horses and savages.”

  
“I devastated, but I gladly make this sacrifice for you and your kingdom. But I am afraid my heart is broken, your Grace, and I doubt I could ever love another man the way I love you.” Sansa did her best to sound sincere and convincing.

  
“I understand,” he gave a terrible smile and then brought his wormy lips to his ear. “That is why you may think of me when the Savage fucks you.”

  
“And he will won’t he? Fuck you?” he asked her, pulling his face away. “He’ll fuck you and you;ll make sure it’s good for him. Bare his bastards and keep him and his army for from my door. You can not fail in this task, Sansa, I command this of you as your king.”

  
She swallowed the foul bile back down, brought up from sudden fear.

  
“I would let the Khal, his army and their horses fuck you if it meant keeping that bastard Targaryen and his whore sister away from my throne. My father should have killed them when they were children.” the king spat all the while gently caressing her cheek before kissing her cheek and letting his mother and siblings have their turn with Sansa to say her farewells.

  
Sansa was relieved when he decided he did not wish to wait and rode off on his own, a few members of his Kingsguard at his flanks to escort and protect him back to the Keep.

  
Myrcella and Tommen threw away all proprietary and embraced Sansa. The children had her entirely surrounded, wrapping their arms around her.

  
“Joffrey said that princes aren’t supposed to cry but i’m going to miss you so much!” wailed Tommen, a maid behind him holding some of his kittens to entertain and comfort him before and after her departure.

  
“Oh, sweet boy, darling boy.” Sansa cooed softly, stroking his hair and thinking of Rickon, of how he would always cling to her before she left. “I will miss you as well, with all of my heart.”  
And she truly would.

  
“Thank you again for my new gowns, Myrcella, I should have thought to give you something---oh, I know!” Sansa looked at Shae.

  
“Please, fetch me my embroidery!?” she asked of Shae, who bowed at the command and hurried back onto the ship. It did not take long for Shae to return. She handed the basket to Sansa and the children reluctantly let her go to see what it was that she had.

  
Sansa gave a teasing smile to the children. “I can’t believe I nearly forgot.”

  
She took from the basket a beautiful piece of silk, and on the silk was a doe, standing over a background of pale pink and yellow flowers. The detailed work was extraordinary, fit to rival the royal seamstress. Myrcella could barely contain her glee at the simple but gorgeous piece of cloth.

  
“I know it is not much, I had hoped to give it as gift for your name day.” Sansa gently ran her fingers across the stitching. “It was meant to be stitched onto a gown for you or cloak for the winter.”

  
“I love it, Sansa!” Myrcella’s gentle hands took it from hers. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll treasure it.”

  
Tommen tugged at Sansa’s skirts, a pout on his face. “What about me, Sansa?”

  
“Oh, Tommen, I’m afraid your name day is much farther off so I hadn’t even started your gift yet.” she frowned down at the boy, his tears only starting to dry. She must think of something for him. Glancing into the basket, she pulled a silver ribbon from the basket and tied it around his arm.

  
“A favor then, for a strong and brave young man.” she spoke dramatically, as if reciting a song or dramatic tale. “Will you accept my humble gift, prince Tommen?”

  
“Of course!” he grinned and went to hug her again, but the Queen had finally had enough of her children fawning over the wolf-bitch.

  
“That is enough now, Tommen, Myrcella!” she snapped. “Back to the litter with you, Lady Sansa has many other who wish to say their farewells to her.”

  
“Yes, mother.” the two chimed, and bowed to Sansa before turning and doing as their mother commanded.  
Cersei glared at Sansa openly now her children were gone. She would put up a facade in front of them, knowing how much they adored Sansa and had no wish to upset them by having them witness any mistreatment or unkind words to Sansa by her before their eyes. Cersei took precise steps towards Sansa, a predator closing in on it’s prey.

  
Lannister men would be travelling with them, and if Cersei ordered it, they would make her time across the sea as miserable of a one as that she had spent in the capitol.

  
The queen's hand struck out and snatched Sansa’s chin, pulling the girl's face to hers until their nose practically touched.

  
“You have been far too bold with me since you’ve learned of our plans for you, Little Dove. Do not think you are safe from the lion's claws, you will never be free of us no matter how far you go, do you hear me you stupid girl!?” Sansa had no choice but to nod, the queens thumbnail sharp and digging into the skin beneath her lip.

  
“If you kill me, Khal Drogo will just replace me with Daenerys Targaryen, and Viserys will have his army.” Sansa dared to speak up. “And you would have given me and any claim I have, away for nothing.”  
Cersei let her go with a snarl, a roar ready to leave her mouth yet never came. She turned from Sansa, her heavy skirts dragging behind her before joining her children back inside their litter.

  
Lord Petyr stepped forward next. He placed his hands on her upper arms rather boldly, thumbs caressing at the fabric of her sleeve in quite an intimate manner that had her rather uncomfortable. His kindness to her so far or the fact that he had and was a dear friend of her mother, never speaking ill of her despite his position, did not ease this discomfort.

  
“Perhaps, my dear, we will meet again in the Free Cities. My profession has given me the chance to travel quite frequently for imports.” he told her.

  
Imports? Sansa raised her brows. He meant bringing foreign whores from across the sea. Next to her Shae scoffed. Lord Baelish paid her no mind.

  
“Such a reunion would please me very much in the future, Lord Baelish, it would surely be a great relief to see a familiar face once more.” Sansa’s smile was a tight one and Little Finger saw through her insincere words.

  
He kissed her hand in a bow and gave his last farewell. The only other council member that came forward after Lord Baelish was Lord Varys.

  
“My lady, I did admire your fathers honor, despite his transgressions against the throne, he was a good man and father. He was very concerned for your well being when he was arrested, I want you to know that.” he told her with a great deal of honesty, at least she felt it was so.

  
“In your cabin is a wedding gift from me, I hope you may find use for it.” he smiled kindly at her.

  
“You did not have to do such a thing for me, Lord Varys.” she told him. “But I thank you regardless for it.”

  
“Birds do tend to flock together,” he said with a little grin that turned into a serious line across his face.

  
“And if I may give you a word of advice, my lady?” he inclined himself forward, arms and hands tucked into his the opposite sleeves of one another.

  
“Lord Varys?” she quirked her brow at him, confused.

  
“Make friends, make many friends, my dear.” the frown of his lips turned up into a small, polite smile. “I wish you a safe journey, Lady Sansa, and may you find happiness in your marriage.”

  
“So many gifts you’ve received, my lady, from the princess, from Varys and now me. You must be very happy!” Lord Tyrion stepped forward, his mood seeming to have improved somewhat.

  
“I had not expected any of them I admit, though I am glad to be so thought of to be bestowed so many bride presents.” she told him her smile more light and kinder, thinking of all that Lord Tyrion had done for her until then.

  
“And here I had thought I was the only one to have thought to honor such tradition.” he said gave a playful smirk.

  
“Truly, Lord Tyrion, you have done enough for me already.” Sansa’ face was a beautiful, soft thing, her eyes having warmed to him just the slightest.

  
“I’m afraid that's not true,” he shook his head. “Podrick, be a lad and bring Lady Sansa’s gifts forward.”  
The boy rushed to the litter and took a long case from the top of it. As he turned to bring it forth, she saw another, smaller items that was sat on top the case.

  
“First, books. One on dothraki history and culture, I know you have a copy of their language already, and another on the complete history of the free cities. I suggest reading through them before you make port in Myr if possible.”

  
Sansa nodded, and Shae took the books and put them with Sansa’s embroidery. She kept her head high as she avoided looking at Tyrion and he noticed, rotating the rings on his fingers before realizing what he was doing and slapping his arms to his side.

  
“I had the entire keep searched for it, Joffrey had it well locked away, god's only knows what he had planned for it.” he began. “Podrick, open it.”

  
Sansa felt all the air leave her as Podrick lifted the top and her eyes fell upon the cool blade of Ice, her father's sword. The sword had been nearly as long as her father was tall, the blade as wide as his arm. Ice had been his honor, his valar, his pride made steel. For every execution in the north, her father wielded Ice and brought the blade down himself, it was laughable that the same blade was used to take his own head.

  
If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. she thought of her father's words, words he had never spoken to her but to her brothers. She had overheard them once, and the words had stuck in her head.

  
She had thought her father brave and honorable for such words, good and noble to never let another man do what he could. Like a knight in a song.

  
She reached out and ran her fingers from hilt to tip, nearly cutting her finger on the sharp blade even as it sat in it’s velvet seating. She brought her hand back to the handle, wrapping her long delicate fingers around it and lifted. Once she had the handle and hilt up, she used two hands to grasp it fully. Valyrian steel was lighter than any other steel, allowing for easy and quick strikes. For Sansa it was still quite heavy, but she held firm, holding the blade upright in front of her examining the distinctive ripples of of the blade.

  
“I also have the sheath as well.” Tyrion told her.

  
Tyrion’s voice seemed to break the restraint she had desperately tried to hold onto when she became faced with her father's sword. Her tears were too much to hold and with a blink they poured heavy down her cheeks. She quickly tried to put her father's sword back, nearly fumbling and dropping it but the Hound was quick, his hand going under hers and helping her grasp it and place it back in the case. Podrick closed it, watching with awkward horror as Sansa began to sob openly before them while the hound did all he could to ignore it, taking the sword from the squire.

  
“Thank you,” she hid her face in her hands, her voice muffled against her palms. “Thank you, thank you so much for everything.”

  
“My dear, it is my pleasure.” Tyrion approached her and put a hand on her arm, touched by her tears.

  
“You have been so strong, you’ve survived well in this place. I commend you for your bravery. Be proud that you live.” he praised her, tugging at her arms to bring her hands away from her face. Her eyes were becoming red, her cheeks blotchy. He took a soft cloth from his tunic and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  
Sansa swallowed feeling so embarrassed for making such a scene. She wiped under her eyes, stopping any more tears from making trails down her face. Grabbing her skirts, she pulled them so that she could bend down in front of Tyrion so that she may look him in the eyes at his level.

  
“I will never forget the kindness you have shown me.” she touched his cheek, and then to all their surprise she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “One day, I hope to repay all you have done for me. Goodbye, Lord Tyrion.”

  
Sansa’s smile was bright, her eyes glittering like the blue sea. She was a bright flame of a girl, her heart hard but kind with her suffering. He truly wished for her happiness, that she would find some purpose and joy in her new life in the Free Cities.

  
“Goodbye, Lady Sansa.”

  
She turned then, making her way up the plank and onto the ship, Shae staying behind with Tyrion.

  
There was a long silence between them. They both knew any long farewell or confession of love would only hurt each other more. They would make this short, frank and to the point so they may part quickly and mourn each other quickly so they may move on. The world would not tolerate anything less of them, there were too many important things to worry about such as running a kingdom and protecting a sweet young girl.

  
“Podrick!” Tyrion called and the boy already knew what to do, producing a pouch that he handed to Tyrion who then stepped forward towards Shae and placed it in her free hand.

  
“Diamonds, for you and only you. Spend them how you will.” he told her, closing her fingers around the bag, the jewels inside make a tinkling sound as they shifted.

  
Shae knew he did not mean any offense with his gift, it was the only true way he knew how to show gratitude. He didn’t have much other than his mind and fathers money. This was his way of telling her he valued her, he cared for her, and one look into his eyes she knew the words he wanted to speak out loud.  
Instead all he said was;

  
“Goodbye, Shae.”

  
A tear slid down her cheek. “Goodbye, my lion.”


	6. 6

Lord Varys gift was a bird. A very common hawk, found both in the North and South. A note in beautiful script was was attached to the gilded cage.

  
“She knows the way to all your brothers known camps and because of her breed no man under the crown will take notice of her. Please feel rest assured your words are safe with her and you may use her to deliver messages of your wellbeing to your family. If you do not trust her to perform this task she is also trained to be a rather good companion, and is very affectionate.

  
For her care you may like to know that if you let her free she will hunt for herself and return always to you.  
She responds to the name Slate, for her blue tipped wings and beak”

  
The letter was not signed or initialed.

  
“Slate, what an odd name for such a pretty girl.” Sansa said, taking a grape from the bowl that had been left for her and offering it to the bird through the bars. It hopped, tilted its head, and then gently nibbled on the fruit from her fingers.

  
She seemed well behaved, but Sansa wondered if she could actually trust the bird not to send her letters to the queen instead of her mother. For now she would not rush sending the bird off with a rushed note. Lord Tyrion seemed to have trusted Lord Varys from the few glimpses she caught of their interactions. Perhaps Shae would have some advice on it.

  
But for now she just took her time in getting comfortable with the cabin that would be her home as they travelled across the sea. It was both Shae and another man's suggestion she keep herself locked in her cabin far from the touch deprived seamen of the ship's staff but for the sake of her legs, she had to take walks from time to time, though she kept mostly below desk for her safety and to stay out of the way. The maester visited frequently to check on her legs, the wounds from her surgery healing very well.

  
Sansa quickly found she was not a woman accustomed for the ocean. She had never been on a ship before and so far her first experience wasn’t a completely pleasant one. Sansa had no stomach for the rocking of the ship and spent most of her journey with Shae holding her hair back and dabbing her face with a wet rag as she vomited her meals into her chamber pot. The smell of salt was everywhere, and Shae had to lay a cloth at the bottom of Sansa’s door to keep the smell from getting in and making Sansa even more sickly. Her pale skin had turned green in the weeks at sea. Shae who had been at sea before found little trouble with the rolling waves and quite enjoyed the cold, sticky air of the water. 

Sansa hated her for it.

  
“Did you love him?” Sansa finally asked Shae one day as she sat in her cabin, some delicate cloth and needle in her lap while Shae cut an apple for the two of them to share.

  
“Did I love who, My Lady?” Shae raised her eyebrows though her eyes were focused on the task at hand.

  
“Lord Tyrion.” Shae’s hand didn’t still, she didn’t show a hint of surprise. In fact she just smiled amusingly.

  
“Sansa, I assure you I have had no such tryst with the little Lannister man. Though I am grateful for how he helped you, if what you're thinking is that I’ve fucked him to earn that, it’s not the case.” Shae looked patiently at Sansa.

  
“That’s not what I think.” the fire haired girl frowned.

  
Shae did not appear offended but she did give Sansa a disbelieving glance. “And why not? I was a whore before I came to work in the Red Keep, I am sure you realized that not too long after I came under your service.”

  
“Because you're not some whore, not to me. You're important to me, my dear friend, that why I want you to be honest with me.” Sansa put her sewing aside and stood in front of Shae, head held high before her.

  
“I’ve heard enough tales, and sang enough songs to recognize longing and love when I see it. Though you did very well to hide it. I almost didn’t notice it at all.” Sansa confessed feeling proud of her keen observation.

  
“My life is not some song, I am not some innocent faire maid and the Imp is not a strong, handsome knight who would rescue me. If you remember the man could never even remember my name.”

  
“Yes, he did play his side very well, but I don’t believe Lord Tyrion is a forgetful man.” Sansa said, having become much more observant and clever in her time at Kings Landing. “In fact I felt he was trying a bit too hard not to acknowledge you.”

  
Shae tried to make herself sound disappointed. Though it was not such a odd thing for Lord Tyrion to have a whore or two in his bed, he still had many enemies in the keep and if anyone noticed he have begun an actual courtship it could endanger them both.

  
“And hear I thought you had let go of such things, yet here you are imagining some pretty little story.”

  
“Don’t try and make me feel stupid, Shae!” Sansa snapped, her cheeks heating. She went back to her bed and picked up her sewing again, angrily stabbing it through the fabric. “I’m not as naive as you think.”

  
Shae sighed and put the apple and knife down, turning her body in the chair to sit facing her.

“I know that, My Lady, I’m sorry.”

“If you don’t want to tell me the truth, that's fine, but don’t mock me!”

  
Somethings may never change, Shae thought as she watched Sansa get upset.

  
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  
Sansa didn’t say anything.

  
Shae left her seat and sat on the beds side by Sansa. The girl did not leave the bed, but she did move away from Shae.

  
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry” she tried again, thinking an apology was a good way to start.

  
“I---” Shae swallowed the words when Sansa looked up at her.

  
She tried again.

  
“At the start, I was just a whore he took from some other men at one of his father's camps.” this was the first personal information about herself she was trusting with Sansa.

  
“It was just good fun for awhile. We got along, we fucked and we joked and played stupid games. Than, his father made him the Hand of the King.” she told her and shrugged as she remembered thinking how boring the other men would be that came after him “And I thought that would be the end of it.”

  
“But he saw something in me he liked enough to keep me with him, or maybe it was to spite his father who had warned him not too, but he took me to the capitol with him and our relationship began to change from there.”

  
“You fell in love?” Sansa asked.

  
“Yes, my lady, like some silly song, we fell in love when we shouldn’t have.” she dipped her head. She had done her crying and there would be no more tears from her eyes, yet they burned all the same as if they would fall despite her wishes.

  
“Thank you, Shae, for telling me. I’m sorry if I pushed you.” Sansa grasped her hands.

  
Shae turned her own hand overs so that their hands were palm to palm. “I would have told you one day.”

  
“Hmm.” Sansa wasn’t sure of that. Instead she focused on the soft skin of Shae’s wrists. There was something about a woman’s skin, Sansa thought, smooth and soft with the barest of hair depending on the woman. And underneath that soft, beautiful skin was a layer of steel.

  
“My lady?”

  
“I’ve only ever kissed Joffrey.” she began. “It was nice at first, just the subtlest of kisses. After what he did, it feels like he had kissed me with two worms for lips. How will my new husband kiss me? Will he kiss me at all?”

  
Shae took her hand back and held Sansa’s face so that the other woman would look at her. “Dothraki do not kiss, they stick their cock inside you and ride you, nothing more.”

  
“Then won’t you kiss me, Shae?”

  
That she had not expected. Though she did feel her lady held some desire for the same sex. Still, she no longer had her lion to pleasure her, and she very well knew Sansa needed to learn how to pleasure herself and her husband. Surely the girl would not mind helping her loyal maid as well.

  
Shae smiled and pulled Sansa’s face closer to her own, touching their lips. It was just two closed mouths and plush lips pressed against one another before Shae began to move her lips, massaging Sansa’s before peaking her tongue out and to tease and poke gently around until Sansa learned to do the same.

  
It felt wonderful. Sansa took a sharp breath in, her body arching towards Shae who caressed a hand down her neck and to her breast, gently cupping it.

  
Sansa pulled back.

  
“That's more than just a kiss!” Sansa said, her breathing heavy.

  
“You’ll be doing more than just kissing your husband. I’ll teach you, ready you for what he’ll want you to do.” and then Shae kissed her again.

  
And they did do more. They spent most of their journey across the sea doing more. They spent lazy afternoons mapping each others bodies with their hands and mouths. At first Sansa had been reluctant to lie with a woman thinking of the gods and their laws, of the forbidden feeling of it all. But she liked it, and she thought that where they were going, and among the sea in her cabin, the gods had no rule over them. It felt good, all of it, the teasing and fingers that Shae slipped inside of her, stretching her in the most delicious way. She learned to do the same to Shae and what angles and how fast she like it. Shae taught her not only about her own body and the body of a woman but also men. Of their shaft between their legs, of the sensitivity of their balls and the dips in a man's muscles where they were weak and sent shivers through their body.

  
Shae would position Sansa how she knew the Dothraki liked it and crawl up behind her, her body draped over Sansa’s back with three fingers pumping in and out of the girls young, virgin cunt. Sansa made the prettiest of sounds when she touched that small bud at the top of her inner folds.

  
What surprised Shae most, was how sometimes Sansa got scrappy, she would turn herself over and take control and pull Shae hair until her neck was bared and bite her. Shae understood it though. Sansa had so much inside of her, so much rage and bottled up aggression that as the perfect high born lady she could not let out but in private, in her bed with Shae she could finally release those feelings.

  
“Good, use that with him, show him you are no meek child he can conquer and take when he wants!” Shae had snarled and pulled Sansa back to her mouth.

  
Eventually the morning came in which Sansa was woken by the horns as land was sighted. They had finally reached Myr. 

  
Sansa could barely stop shaking, her legs had recovered, stitches removed but they felt weaker than ever. Shae had come after the horns sounded to get her ready. They were given water and Sansa bathed before Shae picked out two gowns from the ones that Myrcella had gifted her.

  
They were lovely.

  
Shae sighed. “You are taking too long.”

  
She then put one of the gowns back and left the lavender one with the diving necking and flowing sleeves that stopped at the elbow. It had a full, regal skirt and Shae paired it with a belt of silver butterflies that would sit gently about her waist and accentuate the flare of her hips. Once Sansa was dressed Shae pushed her into a chair and began work on her hair. Brushing the front back, she folded the hair over itself and styled it elegantly atop her head, leaving her long neck and delicate collar exposed.

  
They sat in Sansa’s chambers, waiting for the word that they were secure and could come up. In her lap Sansa balanced her father's sword, hoping to draw from it his strength and courage. Still, she jumped when the pounding on her door signaled their journey’s end.

  
It was time.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is probably so many inconsistencies with the stupid names in this chapter and the next.  
> Sorry

Sansa was a sight to be certain. Beautiful as any queen with all the grace and dignity too as she kept her chin up as they made their way out of her cabin to the ship's top. The men, to no ones surprised, ogled her and Shae. For the most part they had stayed under in Sansa’s chamber with the door barred, coming out only a brisk, escorted walk above deck for some much needed light and air.

  
Despite Sansa’s mask of composure, a dozen questions raced like horses inside her mind.

  
What would happen now when they docked? Would the Khal be there waiting for her to come off the ship or would it be Cersei’s contact, the Magister Raafyel? How soon after she met the Khal would they marry?

  
She realized, soon enough her questions would be answered, reaching the top of the ship's ramp with the men the queen sent with her at her back and Shae only a step behind at her side. A young boy called for Sansa by name. He was cleanly dressed, but Shae recognized the look in his eyes and the leather collar hidden by the high ruffle of his tunic. He brought them to a litter that was manned and guarded by six dark skinned men in leather pants, two with spears in hands and the others with belts that held daggers and long swords at their waist. They were bare chested, no armor or tunics but they war helms of dark metal and blue leather that reminded Sansa of the shell of a beetle.

  
“If you would, Lady Stark,” The boy held the door of the litter opened for them. “The Magister is waiting at the Mance for you.”

  
“Thank you,” she smiled kindly at the boy. He was a sweet looking thing, thing with a curly mop of auburn hair and big eyes.

  
“Shae, give him a little something from my purse, will you?” she asked her maid as she entered the litter.  
“Of course, my Lady.” and Shae did as she was told, taking out a dragon and handing it to the child, patting the top of his head before following Sansa into the litter.

  
The litter carried them from the port into the city, where Sansa got to look through the window and see the artisans on the street, tapestry strung up for sale and glittering glass sat atop small tables for viewing. There were short buildings mostly, but some were tall, with pointed pillars coming out of them.

  
Sansa knew of Myr, Winterfell used Myrish Lenses as did Castle Black. Sometimes the Maester would let her and her siblings look through the glass at the stars and tell them the name of each one. She remembered how far away Bran looked, just a little boy, but as the Maester said the name of the stars if felt like Bran was up there with them.

  
She missed her brothers.

  
The mance of Magister Raafyel was a pale, stone building with titled walkways and draped terraces with beautiful gardens and stoned pools. It was beautiful, and out front waiting for them was who she assumed to be Magister Raafyel. He was a tan man, thick but not fat, with a full, dark beard and sheared head. He was fine, vibrant garments trimmed with lace cuffs.

  
Beside him was a tall, full body woman with dark violet hair and ever darker skin than her husband. She was beautiful, her body draped in the finest Myrish lace that.

  
“My dear girl, the Queen Cersei did not say you were so beautiful!” Raafyel greeted Sansa as she exited the litter, walking to her with open arms. He put a hand one either arm and kissed both her cheeks.

  
“Welcome to our home, Lady Stark, it is an honor to host you!” his wife came next, taking Sansa’s hands and guided her hands up so her arms were held from her body so she could see at it better. “Yes, you do have a lovely figure.”

  
“Why thank you, Lady Clahdean, though my figure could never compare to yours.” she blushed and gazed down upon the woman's gracious tits.

  
“You flatter me.” she laughed. “But truly, I would love to fit you for something.”

  
“My darling here is quite the seamstress, I owe half my trade to her.” Raafyel admitted and kissed his wife before urging his guests to come inside and enjoy some wine and meat after their long journey.

  
The Magister and his wife were both very hospitable but Sansa had to remind herself these were the Queens allies. They could not be trusted. So she thought it almost strange how warmly they took to Sansa. The Magister was very talkative but it was nothing that Sansa could not humor, laughing at his jokes and smiling politely, seeming completely engrossed with what Raafyel had to say. His accent was thick but Sansa managed to understand his words fine.

  
“And when shall I meet the Khal?” Sansa eventually could not contain herself.

  
Raafyel became very serious.

  
“Tomorrow. He and his Khalasar arrived shortly before you this morning, but I convinced him to wait until tomorrow to see you.” he told her.

  
“I thought it would be the considerate thing to allow you a proper bath and sleep so that you might look your best for him.”

  
Sansa smiled. “Thank you, Magister, that is very kind of you. You have my gratitude.”

  
And he did. A long hot soak and a soft downy mattress was exactly what she needed to be at her best for their introduction.

  
He had someone bring her and Shae to quarters that had been prepared. The servants provided her with a number of Myrish laced gowns for Sansa and some servants gowns for Shae. At this Sansa quickly corrected the situation, explaining Shae was her lady in waiting and as such would need something appropriate of her station. The servants at first looked at one another unsure but offered one of the more plainer gowns they had for Sansa to her.

  
“You would look lovely in this shade, Shae!” It was a magenta colored gown of mostly draped silks and bits of pale lace.

  
“We were also asked to take your measurement my lady,” Sansa was a bit confused but allowed it.  
It would be later explained to her at dinner that the Magister and his wife would also be providing a wedding gown for her. Dinner was a pleasant feast of pheasant, chicken and other assortment of meats Sansa had not had since she left Kings Landing. It took her great restraint not to gorge herself among her hosts. Shae beside her did not have such manners and Sansa had to put a hand on her arm and give her a look to slow down.

  
“I’m sorry, it’s been a long journey.” Sansa had apologized for Shae.

  
“Think nothing of it.” Raafyel had simply grinned.

  
Sansa noticed the thick, heavy looking collars around the servants and asked Shae about them.

  
“It should be in one of your books, Essos does not have servants they have slaves.”

  
Sansa did not like that at all. Slavery and the selling of men and women into it had been outlawed and forbidden in Westeros and in Winterfell. Her father felt very strongly about it and remembered a man, Jorah Mormont that he had sentenced to death for selling slaves to Essos. He had escaped her father.

  
Sansa knew that that she had not always treated her servants with kindness or decency, but to be slave was something much more terrible. They were treated like dogs and given nothing in return for their services. Her father and mother always insured that those beneath them were treated fairly, given a hearth and coin, and most of all dignity and respect.

  
There was none of that here, she could see that when she looked closely at the broken look on the slave's faces. No contentment, no bitterness, just sad resignation.

  
“Things are very different in Essos.” Shae had to remind her.

  
That night, Sansa had almost fallen asleep in the giant bath. It was filled with herbs and a scented milk that Made Sansa’s skin smooth as silk. It was lovely and so relaxing Shae was left practically dragging Sansa back to her bed where she immediately fell into a deep sleep for the rest of the night.

  
In the morning food was brought to her room to break her fast. After she was done Lady Clahdean came with a number of maids and servants to ready Sansa for her meeting with the Khal. She was stripped of her nightgown and put into a sheer, myrish lace gown in which you could see all of her body beneath the thin material.

  
Sansa wanted to argue, but Shae came and whispered in her ear. “He will not be choosing you but your body, let him see what he can take to his bed for the rest of his days if he picks you.”

  
And so Sansa swallowed her pride and propriety and allowed herself to finish being dresses in the indecent gown. It was beautiful though, intricate lace patterns of ice blue, it reminded her of the frost that sometimes would form over the glass of the Keeps windows on particularly harsh cold nights.

  
They did not put her hair up, but did pin in back with pearls off her neck and face. She looked like something out of a fever dream. And Raafyel told her such as he saw her that morning before they entered into their litters to meet the Khal outside of the city.

  
“I’m a Direwolf. I am strong, I am brave and fierce. I am Stark, I am Stark.” Sansa chanted to herself through their ride to meet the Khal.

  
Shae did not have the heart this time to remind her girl that her House name would not protect her anymore, but seeing the courage it gave her, she left it alone. At this time, when their fate rested on one man's decision, Sansa needed to believe whatever she needed to portray her confidence, her desirability and fierceness so that the Khal found her worthy to be his. Otherwise, if Tyrion kept his promises, they would find a way to disappear that night. From their they would be on the run from the crown, even if Tyrion had promised their safety, Sansa knew Cersei would hunt her down when she eventually learned the news of her escape.

  
When they arrived Shae stepped out first.

  
“They are already here, make sure you are ready when you step out and push up your tits some.” Shae hissed into the litter.

  
Sansa took a deep breath, let it out, put on her best mask and descended out of the litter.

  
Surely as Shae had said it, there they were, atop their horses eyes on her. She could not count how many of them there was, almost all on horseback, dark men of all different sizes but with the same black hair. Some wore tunics, others just leather pant and horse hair leggings.

  
Magister Raafyel was kind enough to tell her which was the Khal so she was not left looking around foolishly trying to figure out which one he was.

  
Sansa swallowed. Khal Drogo wore no tunic, his chest bare with a dusting of dark hair across it. His shoulder were broad, arms like tree trunks. He was in magnificent shape. His body was not at all like the tall, lean image she used to envision her husband having but perhaps his was better. Bigger and stronger than what she had imagined. His black hair was longer than hers, braided down his back. He was a killer, and she remembered in her books that long hair symbolized the number of battles he had won. His beard was also braided.

  
He had a scar across one eye and Sansa thought him handsome, not the same way that she thought the night of flowers handsome, but still handsome.

  
She watched his horse turn itself around in a circle a few times before it settled and Khal Drogo’s eyes found hers at last, she made her eyes hard and pulled her mouth into a defiant line as he took in her body.

  
Dothraki respected force, resistance and so she would do just that and show him he could have her but he would not so easily break her like one of their horses.

  
“ **M'athchomaroon!** (simple greeting ;With respect!) ” she bowed her head to him, fighting her grin when she saw him raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  
He bowed his head back.

“ **Athchomar chomakaan!** (Greeting said to a non-dothraki, directed at one person; Respect to one that is respectful!) ”

  
“ **Hash yer dothrae chek asshekh?** (Did you ride well?) ” She asked him, making conversation. It was what she knew, she did not know how else to interact with him.

  
Khal Drogo nodded.

  
Sansa smiled, triumph and defiance in her eyes for having gained his attention to actually converse back.

  
“ **Hazi davrae _._** (That's good.) ”

  
He looked away from her then, she almost thought she had made him uncomfortable, but she could not imagine making a man like him nervous. He gave a nod to his men before glancing at her once more before riding away.

  
“Do you think he liked me?” Sansa turned around and asked the Magister, feeling nervous.  
Both the Magister and his wife nodded, and Shae looked down at her with pride for how she had handled herself.

  
“The marriage will take place as soon as possible, the Dothraki do not stay in one place for too long.” Raafyel began to explain as they made their way back to his home, but Sansa was not listening very well, her mind was on the dark eyes of the Khal and that strange warmth low in her belly.

  
A messenger came that night confirming that the Khal had accepted the proposal after seeing Sansa and expected to wed her as soon as the next morning. They told the Magister the Khalasar were already preparing everything for it that very night and would expect Sansa to be delivered and present at the location of their camp. Because of this Sansa had her dinner early and went to bed shortly after, barely able to sleep. She was so nervous. She hadn’t expected it to happen this soon.

  
She was scared. She was so scared of what came next, of the ceremony, the bedding and everything after that was a mystery to her. Her married life would not be in the safety of a keep, running a household and raising sweet babes who would grow to be knights and lords.

  
At one point when she could not sleep she finally decided to write her mother a letter. Slate was by the window in her gilded cage, staring out at the open sky. She went over to a corner of the room that had a writing desk. It had some parchment and even a quill and bottle of ink.

  
She thought briefly of the letter that she had left at The Red Keep, tucked behind a piece of stone. She had written it with no true meaning but to leave behind a bit of her story, a bit history that one day may be found.

  
Sansa began to write.

  
_Mother,_

  
_I am not sure if this letter will even reach you, as I am using a hawk that was given as a gift to deliver it and am unsure if I can trust the givers word that she will find you._

  
_I wanted to let you and Robb know that I am going to be married tomorrow morning to Khal Drogo of the Dothraki._

  
_My husband to be is not at all a man I would ever have imagined I would be marrying, and I’ve only spoken a few words to him upon our first and only meeting thus far. I have hope though that like your marriage to father we may grow on one another and have a comfortable marriage._

  
_The engagement was decided by The King and his Small Council to avoid Viserys Targaryen from marrying his own sister to my betrothed in exchange for his army of men. It was in my best interest that I make a good impression on the Khal and marry him. It seems I did just that and there is no more that can be done about it._

  
_I am unsure of what my life will become now, but at least I will be free of Joffrey and his mother who were very cruel to me. It was terrible, I was humiliated and beaten by the Kings Guard in front of the entire court every time Robb one. They stripped me, exposed my body for all to see, barely able to cover myself with my hands. I still feel the shame._

  
_I should have listened to you mother, should have stayed home with you and waited a bit more to be betrothed. I was in too much of a rush to grow up and would do anything to go back to that day and never leave home._

  
_I miss it, Winterfell. I prayed everyday to be rescued, begged for mercy and Robbs victory to quickly come so that I could go back home._

  
_Why didn’t you trade the Kingslayer for me, why didn’t Robb rescue me?_

  
_I know he is at war, that he is not only fighting for our family but all of the North yet I can’t help but hold some anger towards Robb. Did I wrong him in some way for him to have forgotten any duty he may have to me?_

  
_Please, forgive me, I do love Robb._

  
_Mother, I don’t know where Arya is. She disappeared after father's execution. The Queen thinks she is dead, but I don’t believe that is so. I believe she escaped the Capitol and if that is true then she is most likely trying to reach you or Jon at The Wall. The two of them have always been close and I know Arya would feel safe with him if she can not reach you for some reason._

  
_I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her or father. I feel I am too blame for all this mess. If I had just listened to father like a good daughter and wasn’t so willful with my head in the clouds then perhaps we could have all escaped back home to Winterfell._

  
_Please, I beg yours and Robbs forgiveness for my foolishness._

  
_My deepest regret is that neither father or Robb will be able to give me away to my husband tomorrow. It is not the wedding or marriage of my choosing, but it is still mine and as you have taught me I will do my best to please my husband and be a good and true wife to him._

  
_I love you and miss you and Robb very much._

  
_Be safe._

_Sansa Stark of Winterfell._

  
She rolled the parchment and walked to Slate. She brought her out of her cage and fixed her letter to her leg.

  
“Bring this to my brothers camp.” she told Slate and looked out her window to the grounds before. She saw no one. “Fly.”

  
The Hawk launched herself from Sansa’s arm and flew up into the sky and towards the sea in which they had arrived.


	8. 8

Sansa managed to get to sleep after a while but when she woke it felt like it had only been for brief time. The sun wasn’t even up yet when Clahdean and her slaves came in to prepare her for the wedding.

  
She was pulled from bed and brought to the baths, washed and perfumed she was brought back to her room and dressed in a beautiful Myrish lace gown with a soft pink silk under layer to her, much more modest than the gown she had worn the morning before. It hugged the shape of her body but showed much less of it through the fabric with an off the shoulder neckline and flowing lace sleeves that stopped just past her elbow much like the gown she worn when they arrived. Her hair was perfumed and done half up and half down with flowers from the garden tucked into it in multiple spots.

  
After she had been completely dressed the Magister arrived with a box in hand.

  
“A final wedding gift from the crown.” he smiled and opened the box, revealing the heavy diamond necklace and bracelets.

  
“How generous of the King, I don’t deserve such gifts.” she forced herself to seem grateful, letting Raafyel put the necklace around the neck, immediately feeling like a jeweled noose.

  
The trip out of Myr was agonizing, Sansa felt ready to throw herself out and run, just run as fast and far as she could. But she didn’t, the diamond bracelets around her wrists felt like heavy bags of grain, keeping her in place.The Khal had liked her, he had agreed to marry her and if she didn’t she would be hunted to the ends of the world by the Joffrey and Cersei if he went and married Daenerys Targaryen and gave Viserys his army. She would go through with the marriage.

  
Drogo hadn’t seemed terrible when they met, calm and quiet, but he hadn’t ignored her. She had done her best to be brave, to be the things that he respected, and he had acknowledged her when she spoke his language. That was something good. Though she wasn’t sure exactly what topic of conversation they would have in the future. She was raised as a Lady, to speak of things allowed to a lady were the care of her husband's castle, their children and some matters of her day before she allowed her attention to fall completely on her husband. What would she have to talk about with a man like Khal Drogo?

  
All too soon they arrived at the field.

  
A great earthen ramp had been raised amid the grass palaces and atop it Khal Drogo sat above the seething sea of Dothraki. As Sansa stepped out of her litter, not knowing it would be the last she ever rode in one again, she raised her chin and set her eyes to shine with defiance. Shoulders back, she walked forward to join Khal Drogo in the seat at his side. He didn’t even glance at her as she took her seat. The magister had explained once more the ceremony to her before they had left, the wedding traditions of the Dothraki nothing like that of Westeros.

  
The people before her were a great mass of bodies writing under the open sky, wild and frightening. The Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man's life must be done beneath the open sky. Drogo had called his Khalasar to attend him, forty thousand Dothraki warriors and uncounted numbers of women, children and slaves. Seeing the them made Sansa’s gut clench uncomfortably with sympathy for the poor things. She thought of Rickon and Tommen as one little boy huddled with his mother, and of Myrcella as she watched a slave woman try to comb her daughters tangled hair with her fingers. She would never get used to the idea of slaves.

  
Men and women alike wore painted leather vests over bares chests and horsehair leggings cinched by bronze medallion belts, and the warriors had greased their long braids with fat from rendering pits. They stuffed themselves with roasted horseflesh with honey and peppers, drank themselves dizzy on fermented mare’s milk and the fine wines that Magister Raafyel had gifted them. They laughed as they spat jests across the fire pits, their voices harsh, but somehow reminding Sansa of the way some of the men in the North would speak, voices deep and gruff, scratched with the chill of the North.

  
After explaining that Shae was her dearest friend, the Khal agreed to seat her handmaiden at a place just below the Khals bloodrider's, sitting beneath Sansa with the Magister and his wife. It was a seat of great honor, and Shae smiled at her encouragingly from it. At times Shae occupied herself with speaking to a bloodrider or another woman, knowing the langauge from when she practiced with Sansa. She was much better at the language than Sansa due to a guttural way that she could roll some of the words that Sansa found difficulty with.

  
Food was brought to Sansa, steaming joints of meat and thick black sausages and Dothraki blood pies, and later fruits of sweetgrass stews and delicate pastries including lemon cakes that came from the kitchens of Myr. Sansa tried to eat a little of everything, out of respect like her mother had taught her even when bile rose in her throat at something that her tongue did not have a good taste for. She simply swallowed it down with some honeyed wine and moved on to the next dish. Her stomach turned grossly, and she sweated with the effort of keeping some of it down.

  
She only spoke very briefly with Khal Drogo, otherwise he was preferred to keep occupied with shouting commands and jests down to his bloodriders, laughing at their replies and looking little at her. She was not sure if she should be relieved or irritated that he seemed to mind her so little, she was his wife after all. She found herself looking at him more than he looked at her, feeling ashamed when she thought of Shae’s lessons. His chest was bare as before, but he wore cleaner, finer trousers and a gold belt, not a copper or bronze one like all the others wore. Studying his side profile, he was indeed handsome, she thought again. At least he was not a hideous man and felt little concern her children would be anything but handsome themselves.

  
She watched the women that danced for the Khal to the beating drums. She took in their shapely bodies, the heaviness of their teats, the sway of their hips thinking of the times Shae laid atop her, touching and kissing her as she taught her the ways of love making. She looked between Drogo and the women, that warm feeling low in her belly returning.

  
Drogo watched the women without expression, but his eyes followed their movements the same way Sansa’s did. From time to time he would throw a bronze medallion for the women to fight over, rolling on top of one another and pulling the few strips of fabric they were wearing away or even completely off entirely to get at it.

  
The warriors were watching too until one of them finally stepped into the circled and grabbed a dancer by the arm, pushed her down onto her knees and hands and mounted her right there in front of them. That’s when Sansa looked away. It was improper, to do something so intimate in front of others, so many others. Forgetting this was the way of the Dothtaki, little shame and done with an audience.

  
She felt her cheeks and neck get hot, turning red. She would be consummating her marriage much the same she thought, later under the stars in the open air.

  
A second warrior stepped forward, and a third and a fourth and then Sansa couldn’t help but look, no way to advert her eyes as they took the entire space in front of them to couple.

  
The sun was only a quarter of the way into the sky when two of them grabbed for the same woman. There was a shout and a shove, and in a blink of her blue eyes the arakhs were out, long razor-sharp blades, half sword and half scythe. They warriors circled and slashed, leaping towards each other, whirling their blades around their heads, shrieking insults at one another. It ended quicker than Sansa thought.

  
One man misstepped and the other swung his blade in a flat arc. Steel sliced through flush high up on the Dothraki’s waist and opened him from backbone to navel cringed and Sansa nearly vomited at the splattered blood and innards fell from the open gut of the Dothraki warrior before the winner took hold of the base of his braid and cut off the length, holding it above him triumphantly before throwing it into one of the fire pits.  
The winner took hold of the nearest woman, the one they had been quarrelling over and took her before the dead body before some slaves came and carried the dead man away. The dancing resumed.

  
“A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is deemed a dull affair,” Magister Raafyel shouted up to her from his place.

  
Her union must be especially blessed then as more than a dozen men had died before the end of the day.  
A dark spark ignited in Sansa’s heart as she glanced at the Lannister men enjoying themselves too much at her wedding.

  
“Perhaps one of you brave men should join, unless you are afraid a Dothraki savage can defeat you?” Sansa turned and called to her Lannister guards, egging them on. Only one fell for the bait.

  
“Oh, but it wouldn’t be fair if you wore your armor now, would it?” He drew his sword.

  
“If you are to fight, you must take it off, after all your opponent has no armor.” He eyed her warily.

  
“Unless you think you need it.” she challenged him

  
The man was overconfident, he did as she suggested and he was killed. Sansa laughed and clapped as an arakh was stuck in the junction of his shoulder and neck. Drogo looked at her approvingly, urging the other armored men to fight as well. She recognized the soldiers, their faces and names. They had hurt her  
When some of them refused Dothraki men ambushed them, grappling at their weapons and yanking lose their armor. A man was pushed forward, his sword pulled from his hip. Staring at the waiting warriors and Sansa unsure, frightened. His eyes begged her to stop this.

  
“What’s wrong, can you only hold a blade against a defenseless woman. Have you no spine?” she asked him, and he growled and cursed at her.

  
“The King will hear of this!” another of the men shouted at her.

  
“From who? You?” she asked him she glanced among the warriors with a cunning grin. “You can’t return to the capitol and tell him if you're dead.”

  
“If some of you don’t come back, it can be said the men merely participated foolishly in the events of my wedding and died like so many others that fought today.” she shrugged her delicate soldiers.

  
“You cunt!” A Dothraki man cut open his throat and threw the mans body at her feet.

  
“For Khaleesi!” Sansa smiled and clapped for the man as she would at any knight or man who had won a match at a tourney.

  
The Dothraki were beastly and blood thirsty, more animal than man, but they seemed far less monstrous than Joffrey. She took some comfort in that oddity while breathing deeply through the passing hours thinking of when the time came for her husband to take her as was his right.

  
How would he do it?

  
Her husband was a hulking giant of muscle and dark skin, with a hard and cruel mask of bronze. He could rip her in half, dear gods, she might not even survive having him enter her.

  
The day no longer seemed long enough when the sun finally landed low in the sky.

  
Khal Drogo clapped his hands together and the drums, shouting and feasting came to a halt. Drogo stood and pulled Sansa roughly to her feet, she glared up at him, pushing out her chest and doing her best to look unafraid. She had enough men treat her harshly. She pulled her arm from his grip, and he quirked a scarred eyebrow at her with a frown. She nodded her understanding. It was time for her bride gifts. She thought of the ones she had already received from Tyrion, Myrcella and Varys before she left. She was sure her gifts from her wedding guests would be much different.

  
And after the gifts, after the sun had gone down it would be time for their first ride and the consummation of their wedding. She thought of that burn in her belly, of the expanse of Drogo’s broad chest, the things about him that she was attracted to. Shae told her it was better to think of what excited her, to make her wet and slick so that the man could enter her with greater ease.

  
Magister Raafiel was the first to give her gifts. Two handmaidens, Irri and Jhiqui, both copper skinned Dothraki with black hair and almond shaped eyes.

  
“Irri will teach you riding and Jhiqui will assist you in further learning the Dothraki tongue,” he smiled broadly. “I hope they will bring you some comfort in your new life.”

  
She thanked him. Lady Clahdyn also gave gifts as well, velvets, furs, silks and myrish lace folded within a great cedar chest with new thread and needles packed away on top of them. “The gowns you are used to may not be suitable for your new life, but I hope you can find away to still dress in style with these. “  
She thanked the couple both for their gifts and hospitality.

  
Shae had also conjured a gift for her. She presented Sansa with a stunning ornate silver dagger. Shae did not have to explain the gift as Sansa remembered the first time Shae had lifted her skirts to show her her own knife strapped to her thigh. She kissed her friend's cheeks and thanked her for her gift.

  
The Khals bloodriders were next, offering her the traditional three weapons: Haggo gave a great leather whip with a silver handle, Cohollo a Magnificent arakh chased in gold and Qotho a double-curved dragon bow as tall as Sansa. Lady Clahdyn had taught her the traditional refusals for these offerings.

  
She had practiced for hours to perfect her words so that she spoke in perfect Dothraki, standing tall and proud before her new people, wearing a smile all the while.

  
“This is a gift worthy of a great warrior, O blood of my blood, and I am but a woman. Let my lord husband bear these in my stead. ” and so Khal Drogo too received his “bride gifts.”

  
She was given other gifts in number from other Dothraki: slippers, jewels, silver rings for her hair, medallion belts, painted vests, soft furs, sandsilks, jars of perfume, feathers and tiny bottles of purple glass.

  
The gifts continued to be mounted up around her in great piles, more gifts than she had ever imagined to be presented to her. How Joffrey would boil if he saw her bounty. It brought a satisfied smile to her face.

  
The last and final gift was from Drogo. He stood and the people parted. A hush settled from the center of the camp and moved out until the whole Khalasar had been swallowed in silence.

  
Sansa followed him and he led her to a horse, but not just any horse. She may not have been the rider that Arya are even her brothers were, but she spent enough time around them to know the difference. She was a filly, spirited and splendid. The animal before her was no ordinary horse. There was something about her that took her breath away and reminded Sansa of home , of Winterfell. She was grey, like the Direwolf of her house sigil and the water of the winter sea, with a mane of silver.

  
“She’s beautiful,” Sansa murmured, reaching up slowly to stroke the horse's neck, careful that she saw her so that she wouldn’t be spooked. She had made that mistake once and Arya’s knees had buckled from laughing so hard when the horse had knocked her into some of it’s muck.

  
“She’s beautiful,” Sansa murmured.

  
“She is the current pride of the Khalasar,” Raafyel said. “Custom decrees that the Khaleesi must ride a mount worthy of her place by the side of the Khal.”

  
She was startled when Drogo put his hands on her waist, turning to look at him sharply but he gave her a dark stare, a glare that dared her to pull away and challenge him. She didn’t. She was a tall girl, but he lifted her like she was nothing but a sack of feathers and set her on the thin Dothraki saddle. It was much smaller than the ones they had used in Winterfell.

  
She took a deep breath and with the dagger Shae had given her cut the sides of her gown, allowing her to spread her legs and straddle the horse. She was not a highborn lady anymore, she was a wife and Khaleesi . She kept her eyes on Drogo who watched her. She gave a smile and pressed her heels into her fillies side to get her moving. She could probably just keep going, but she felt sure that if she did they would chase her down and kill her for the humiliation that act would cause Drogo.

  
The crowd parted for her with every eye upon her. She thought of Arya, so natural on horseback while she was just doing her best to not slip off the side of her own. She leaned back and evened her weight out on top of her horse as it began to trot faster than what she expected. And somehow, her nervousness that she would fall and humiliate herself turned to excitement, her hair coming loose from it’s perfect style as the air rushed through it. The horse broke into a trot and she smiled like a child, a feeling of giddiness filling her. The Dothraki scrambled to clear her path and she gave a loud, musical laugh. She wanted to go faster, she gave a click of her tongue like Arya would do and her sweet filly sprang into a gallop, the Dothraki hooting and laughing with her.

  
“Faster!” she raced past her husband and saw a fire pit looming ahead. They were hemmed in from either side, so she could not even turn. Feeling brave, she gave the filly her head.

  
The silver horse leapt the flames as if she had wings, as if she truly had become bird. It was only then, that she really felt free for the first time since she left the capitol.


	9. 9

Khal Drogo smiled at her, the very first of them and gave a little nod as if he were trying to say ‘you’re welcome’.

  
She had never raced on horseback like Arya and her brothers, she always thought it was unladylike and now she felt a fool. It was so exhilarating

  
She stayed atop her filly enjoying herself for as long as she could, losing track of time until the last beam of sun vanished behind the high wall of the city. Khal Drogo commanded his bloodriders to bring forth his own horse, a lean red stallion and mounted it.

  
It was time for the bedding, but for her there would be no actual bed as in Westeros.

  
They rode out from the camp side by side, leaving the Khalasar behind and moved towards the glittering stars of the night before them. It was a warm night and Sansa began to feel all to hot in her wedding gown on top of her horse. She and Drogo did not speak, as she did not know what to say leading up to what they were about to do. The tiny silver bells in his braid rang softly as he rode.

  
“I can be brave, I can be brave, I can be brave.” she started to whisper to herself as her stomach began to roll. She was scared. She knew there would be pain but she would endure, as she had endured all pain before. But this pain was deeper, more intrusive and humiliating. She had to remind her this was not torture, this was not Joffrey playing with her, it was not him finally keeping his word to rape her. This was another, a man not a boy, and her husband.

  
This was how baby’s were made.

  
“Family, duty, honor.” she spoke the Tully words to herself. The man riding beside her was her husband, it was her duty to lay with him and her honor to bare him sons.

  
The sky had turned from the dark blue it was when they left to pitch black, the light of the moon and stars shining above them and lighting the night with dull beams of silver. At last they came to a stop at a grassy place near a large pond. Drogo swung off his horse and quickly spun around to hers and lifted her from it, placing her on her feet in front of him.

  
He released her to secure the horses, all the while she watched him, imagining his strong body on top of her and started to cry as much as she hated to do so. When he turned back around she was in the midst of wiping her face so that he wouldn’t see, but he did. He cupped her face in his big hands, thumb under her chin and nudging it up to stare expressionless at the tears she had missed.

  
“No,” he said startling her, wiping the tears that were left away with rough calloused thumbs.

  
“You speak the Common Tongue?” Sansa asked, eyes wide.

  
“No,” he said again. Sansa wanted to laugh, of course he only knew one or two words, not enough to have any meaningful conversation. She felt like he was trying though, as she had tried with him.

  
Smiling she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and sighing into his warm palm. His other hand touched her hair lightly, thumb caressing the her cheek. He murmured softly in Dothraki and Sansa smiled as she recognized the words.

  
He had called her beautiful, but more than that there was warmth and tenderness in his tone that she had not expected from him, and it had hope blooming in her chest.

  
“ **Hash yer asti k’athikilari?** (Are you speaking truthfully?) ” she asked him, looking into his dark eyes.

  
“ **Sek.** (Yes) ”

  
Taking her lightly under her arms he placed her atop a smooth rock by the pond and proceeded to sit on the ground in front of her so that he was facing her, this way they were nearly eye level, she was only the tiniest amount higher than him and the way he sat in front of her made her feel like a queen or goddess.

  
“No,” he said again.

  
“Can you understand what I am saying?” she asked him. “Is no the only word you know?"

  
“No.” he said after a moment of hesitation and she sighed and shook her head. She would just have to teach him later.

  
His long heavy braid was coiled in the dirt beside him. He pulled it over his right shoulder and began to remove the bells from his hair, carefully, one by one. She leaned forward and began to help him. Sansa was familiar with this, like helping her brothers with their armor. Her mother had told her that it might be expected of her to help her husband out of his attire rather than a squire or maid. It felt strangely routine to her, despite it being her first time.

  
After the bells were all out she began to undo his braid, his hair surprisingly soft. It took a long time, his hair longer than any woman's she’s ever met. Meanwhile as she freed his hair, he watched her. When she was done, he shook his head, and Sansa laughed a little at the sheer amount of it that now spread out behind him like a river of ink, oiled and gleaming.

  
It was his turn then, and her heart pounded with nervous anticipation.

  
Reaching behind her head, sliding a hand over his neck as he went, he pulled free her hair of it’s pins and ribbons with surprisingly nimble fingers and tender and deft in what he was doing. As she had admired his hair he did the same and watched in splendor as hers rolled free from its holdings as well. H slid his fingers through the red strands, her silken hair slipping easily between his fingers. His hands slid from her hair, cupping her neck and tracing the shape of her face, a thumb pressing against the pout of her lips.

  
It didn’t seem fair, that he was doing on the touching so she slowly reached out for him, as if afraid to startle him like a jittery animal that could turn and bite her. She started at his wrist, her touch soft, tracing bulging veins up his arm to the joint of his elbow, stroking the soft skin at the juncture. After a minute, she moved her hand up, palm flat and fingers splayed across the massive muscle of his biceps, giggling at the small contraction of muscle under her hands. He was strong, so strong, and instead of being afraid of that it comforted her, excited her even. He was hers, this strong, fierce savage was hers and he would hold and protect her for as long as they lived.

  
She continued to travel up his shoulders, her hands resting on the broad expanse.She crawled her fingers up his neck, tracing the curve of his ears and sighing at the feel of his hair tickling her fingertips. Her hands began to shake as she smoothed fingers across his brow and down his cheeks until she was cupping his face. Swallowing, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, a closed mouth, unsure kiss.

  
The Khal did not move, did not reciprocate and Sansa’s face began to burn with embarrassment and made to pull back but Drogo kept his hold on her face, and pulled her back in, pressing their lips back together, his beard rough and a little itchy against her skin. He soon began to move his mouth against hers, opening her lips with his, his tongue slipping in between to dance with hers and Sansa remembered how she and Shae kissed and did her best to move her tongue and shape her mouth the right way. It was different from kissing Shae, not as soft and slow, it was as if they were starving and they could only find fulfillment from the others mouth.

  
Drogo’s hands moved to her shoulders, hooking his fingers into the top of her sleeves and tugged at them gently as he tried to push her gown down, but the bodice was laced tight to keep it up. Regretful she pulled back and turned in her spot and showed him the silken laces in the back. He understood, and pulled at the silk strings, the knot easily coming undone. With surprising patience and carefulness, he began to loosen the rest of the crisscrossing string until finally her gown dropped on it’s own from her torso, pooling at her waist.

  
She turned her body back towards him so he could see, her hands fists in the fabric at her hips to keep herself from reaching up to cover herself. She knew she was beautiful, he had told her and so had others, but none of them had ever seen her naked. She reminded herself this was not some perverse stranger but her husband gazing at her body. The night air had turned chilly and she sucked in a breath as her nipples hardened. He stared at her teats for a long while before he gestured her to stand, and she did, her gown dropping completely now from her body to pile at her ankles. She stepped out of it and pushed it to the side with her foot.

  
She kept her chin high, her eyes hard. She would not feel intimidated or ashamed of her body. Drogo seemed to like it well enough from the way he was drinking every inch of in. After awhile he finally began to touch again. His caresses were light at first, then his touches became harder. She already knew the strength of his hands from the first time he had touched her, but he had yet to hurt her with them. Swallowing she placed her hands on top of his.

  
“ **Sek** ,” she told him and guided his hands up her body, her lips trembling, both scared and excited as she looked down into his dark eyes.

  
He pulled her closer, stepping over his knees to stand in the small gap in between his legs, his face nearly at level with her breasts. His hands went to her arms, running down them to her fingertips, stroking each long delicate finger. One hands stayed on hers, the other going to her hip and travelling up and down her leg. His breath on her abdomen was warm and torturous, and she squeezed her eyes tight as the warm low in her belly began to burn almost too hot.

Drogo made sure to make eye contact with her as he brought his lips to her skin, kissing her navel, her belly and hips while his hands began to slide upwards until finally his fingers brushed the bottom swell of her breasts, stroking until it tingled. He then moved higher, still kissing her body, his fingers circled her nipples, thumb flicking the tiny buds before he took her nipples between thumb and forefinger, pinching them. She let out a gasp, throwing her head back and breaking the eye contact.

  
Oh, she liked that.

  
Drogo tugged softly at her nipples, very light at first before turning more insistence and they began to ache in a most pleasurable way, rolling and pinching them at the same time that had her gasping. Her breasts were not the only things aching, her woman's place too, and she could feel it begin to get slicker. It was just too much, she dropped into his lap, straddling his powerful eyes, legs spread and grabbed his face again and pulled his mouth to hers, hungry for more of him. She delved her fingers into his hair, pulling at the strands just slightly, fingers scratching softly at his scalp.

  
She pulled back and nodded her head and said again to him, “yes.”

  
Taking one of his hands, she brought it to the wetness between her thighs. She said it again in Dothraki, taking both her hands to guide his fingers, dipping one inside her and gently rocking on his palm.

  
“Yes,” she sighed, her breath coming out is short pants.

  
Sansa took her hands away from his as he began to move his hand and fingers on his own and tried to make for his belt. His other arm coming to wrap around her waist, pulling her against him finally close enough to suck a nipple into his mouth. She gave a moan, her knees starting to shake between the sweet suction and flicking tongue at her nipples and the slow, deliberate fingers moving inside of her. It was strange and much bigger than Shae’s fingers. Their was a stinging pain and ache, that was not pleasant, but she reminded herself a single of his fingers was nothing, and his manhood would be larger.

  
She gave a pained whine when he added a second finger, feeling as if her cunt would tear in half around the solid girth of his two fingers. She squirmed but did not move to escape and end the intrusion of her body. She had to endure, she had to fulfill her duty. In hopes to ease her pain, she gave up trying to remove his pants and brought her fingers to her mound, finding her little rosebud and began to stroke it, closing her eyes and thinking of the days she spent in bed with Shae, the gentle and sensual caresses and fondling, of the women dancing, of Drogo’s strong body and his kiss, his mouth on her breasts. It still hurt, but it helped make her wetter and throw some pleasure into with the pain.

  
He kept working his two fingers, pumping in and out of her until he grabbed her hips and turned her around, pressing down high up on her back until she got on her hands and knees. She heard him remove his leather and horsehair leggings, felt his weight over her and the hot blunt nudge of his cock at her entrance from behind. Fear began to overwhelm her, she frantically rubbed at her bud and over the slick folds of her lower lips, trying to stimulate herself and not clench her entrance.

She begged for him to just do it, to hurry before she lost all courage, before she panicked and tried to run. She was near sobbing at the wait until finally with one rough, deep thrust he was sheathed inside of her and she let out a horrible scream, pain shooting up her spine and down her legs, her entire body trembling with the shock. Tears poured down her cheeks, hot and heavy turning her vision hazy. Touching herself no longer seemed to help her as he began to move, all tenderness gone, now he solely focused on himself and his pleasure.

  
She would not allow it, she would not let him win and allow him to be the only one to have his way, to find pleasure in what they were doing while she suffered beneath him.

  
She reached up, caught his hair and pulled, hearing him let out a angry shout that she soon muffled with her mouth as she dragged his face to her shoulder and turned her face towards his, colliding their mouths. Their teeth clashed, and she bit at his lips until she could taste the familiar tang of blood. He met her eyes, ice blue filled with anger and determination. He gave a growl and thrust harder, mouths crashing again, her nails digging into his neck as she struggled to hold herself up on one arm.

Her elbow buckled eventually, her face pressing into grass and she brought her fingers back to her cunt, playing with herself around Drogo’s cock piercing her. She glared at him over her shoulder, grinning when she spotted the cut on her lip that she had left from her teeth. With one cheek to the ground and the other to the air with her ass up and out for him, she brought her other hand to one of her breasts, rolling and tugging at a nipple, trying to seek some satisfaction.

  
She wanted to clench tight around him, like Shae taught her to help make him spill his seed quicker, but it just hurt too much. She felt stuffed, her stomach aching as her woman hood burned and blood dripped down her thighs from breaking her wall.

  
“You will not break me!” she said with clenched teeth though she knew he would not understand her words.

“You will not win!”

  
Taking a deep breath, she took her hands away from herself and used them to push herself up, shoving off the ground so that her back collided with his chest and she wrapped an arm around his neck and shoulder, lifting herself up and down on him with her knee’s taking control.

  
He was surprised, his hands on her hips faltering and going to wrap around her waist to steady her. She dropped her head back on his shoulder, breathing into his ear as she met each thrust of his hips as painful as it was. She would make him come, make him spill his seed and end this.

  
She played with her nipples with one hand, going back and forth between breasts before one of Drogo’s hands joined her and she was free to bring her fingers back to her bud and folds.

  
She frantically plowed back into him as he rode her like some broodmare or bitch. If he thought her either he was mistaken. When he began to grunt loud, his thrusts coming quicker, stuttering she grinned victoriously. Biting her lip she clenched herself around him, and he gave a guttural moan against her jaw, hand leaving her breast back to her hip pulling her up and down harshly on top of him.

  
“Spill inside me damn you, do it!” she growled into his ear, her body growing weak and tired from the strain of their consummation.

  
He bit her neck, like a dog trying to keep his bitch still. In return she grabbed a fist of his hair and pulled as if the mane of a stallion, but he did not let go, only bit down harder and she yanked his hair in same. It had become a challenge to which one they could tame first.

  
Be it victory or loss, with a few more deep, stuttering thrusts Khal Drogo finally came to his release whereas Sansa did not. He kept hips pressed to her ass, keeping himself inside her as he slowly loosened his jaw, teeth leaving her neck and she released her hold on his hair, relieved when he softened and pulled out of her, dropping to his side and rolling to his back, breathing heavy. He did not look at her but the sky until his eyes grew heavy and closed, soft snores following. He had fallen asleep.

  
Sansa wanted to kick him in the ribs as some of his seed mixed with her blood, dripping lines down her thighs to her knees.

  
As he slept, Sansa washed herself in the pond, not knowing if she would have the chance in the morning.

When she was satisfied with her cleanliness, she dried herself off with her husband's pants before tossing them on top of him and slipped her gown back on, pulling the laces as tight as she could but unable to tie the ends. After she laid down a few feet from her husband and wiped away her tears before closing her eyes and attempting to get some sleep.


	10. 10

Sleep had come to her surprisingly quick, both her body and mind having been exhausted by the long day.

  
She had wondered briefly if she had made her husband happy with how she had behaved with them during their coupling. It had been terrible for her, but if he had managed to increase his pleasure by any standard than the usual that men took from the act, she would consider that an accomplishment.

  
Sansa at one point considered just going limp, to make it easier on her poor body, and just let him hold her however he pleased as her instincts urged her to do. But she was angry about the situation being as she wanted, as she had always dreamed and dared to be defiant to the end. She wanted him to know that she was not at all as happy about their arrangement as he may think, if he thought at all.

  
When she woke Drogo was already up and readying their horses to go back to the camp. She spared some time before joining him by her own horse to go to the pond. She cupped some water in her hand and took a drink before splashing some of the cool water across her eyes, hoping it would settle some of the redness from her cry the night before. When's he finished she went to Drogo and he helped her onto the mare and then jumped onto his own, leading the way back. They did not talk.

  
Sansa wanted to ask if she had pleased him, but didn’t. She wanted to ask what would happen now, but she didn’t. She knew at least that they would be traveling soon, the Dothraki being a nomadic people and as the Magister said, they never stayed in one place long.

  
She expected to she would be witness to a number of things she was unaccustomed to, but was certain she would adjust and bare through it. Eventually after awhile she would get used to it and not even bat an eye towards the Dothraki way of life.

She thought of her mother, how she once said that it took her awhile to adjust to the ways of the North when she married Sansa’s father. It gave her some courage and confidence to remember that.

  
Sansa continued to wonder if their was anything particular that was expected of her as the Khaleesi. Did she have any responsibilities at all? It would certainly help to keep herself busy and immerse herself in learning her new role if at all possible. That was just the kind of woman Sansa was. She tried to remember if their was any such things in her readings, but could not recall any mention.

  
When they reached the camp Shae was waiting for her, wearing a concerned face as Sansa rode in. She and Sansa’s new servant girls helped her off of her mare and Shae looked impressed when she saw the bite on Sansa’s neck.

  
“My, my, you had quite the tussle last night!” she laughed and glanced at Drogo, smirking when she saw that he wore a few scratches of his own on his arms and shoulders.

  
“Well, at least you managed to get a few claw marks in yourself.” she shrugged and put an arm around Sansa’s shoulders, leading her to the Khaleesi’s tent that had been prepared for her.

  
“The Khalasar will stay one more night to let you rest before we ride again, Khaleesi.” Irri, one of Sansa’s knew companions told her told her as she helped Sansa into a warm wooden tub. “It is known.”

  
“That’s surprisingly considerate.” Sansa muttered to herself as she soaked, grateful for the small luxury of the wooden tub. Apparently another gift from the Magister and his wife. The Dothraki did not bathe very often, jumping in river or pond when they came across one.

  
She might not be able to soak in the tub every night, but it was nice to know that she had it when she might need a bath the most. There would be a great many things she would have to live without from now on.

  
When she was finished being cleaned and pampered, Sansa was dressed in a simple and much more comfortable gown and given a women shawl by Jhiqui.

  
“I would like to walk around, I’ve been on a boat for so long and I’ve barely stretched my legs since.” she said and Jhiqui and Irri shared an uncertain look between them, but Sansa was already moving towards the opening of her tent. 

  
Sansa felt a well placed nervousness walking among strangers, but she had felt the same fear when she walked the halls or the gardens of the Red Keep. It was nothing she was not used to. The air felt nice, and it was warmer in essos than in Kings Landing. She wondered if Winters here were the same as Westeros. 

  
She could still smell the sea from the camp and it made her sick a little. She would be happy to be far from it soon. She kept thinking about her home across it, over sailing into White Harbor, of running home and seeing Rickon and Bran again. She needed to stop thinking about her old home and start thinking about the one she needed to make for herself with the Khalasar.

  
She wasn’t going back, ever. This was it, this was her life, her future and she had face it.

  
“Khaleesi?”

  
Sansa looked at the worried face of Irri. “Tell me about the Khalasar, Irri.”

  
The woman smiled. “Yes, Khaleesi.”

  
So Irri told Sansa about the Khalasar, naming her husband's blood riders and pointing each one out to her. Irri’s common tongue was not the most refined, Jhiqui spoke much better, but Sansa understood her perfectly fine. She learned that they would be heading towards Vast Dothraki to make official her marriage before the other Khalasar's, the journey taking months if they took their time.

  
During her walk sometimes Sansa would spot Drogo, tall and muscular. He moved so gracefully, it almost so surprised Sansa and she found her eyes staying on him longer than she planned. She blushed when Drogo caught her staring and she quickly tried to set her attention on something else.

  
She heard snickering and laughter and found the knights from the capital taunting some Dothraki girl. Most had left on a ship for King's Landing that morning after it was confirmed her marriage had been consummated. The men even dared to go to the spot where she and Khal Drogo had joined, searching the grass for her maiden blood. Those who stayed behind were meant to keep an eye on her.

  
The girl seemed distraught, caught between their metal clad bodies, trying to squirm out of the box of their arms.

  
“Irri, do you know that girls name?” Sansa asked her, glaring at the scene.

  
“Yes, Khaleesi, that is Jommi.” she answered quickly and respectfully.

  
“Jommi!” Sansa shouted, her voice a sweet polite ring across the distance. The girl, young, even younger than Sansa looked at her startled. “Come here, please!”

  
The girl looked confused, but struggled more against the men who still refused to let her go. They sneered at Sansa and one brazenly groped at Jommi’s breasts. Sansa stomped over to her, Shae calling to her with trepidation.

  
“Won’t you two let her go, she’s meant to be attending me.” Sansa used her courtesies, smiling politely at them, her hair loose looking like a flame behind her when the wind blew.

  
“I don’t think so, we were just starting to have some fun with this one.” one of them, Dayved, Sansa remembered.

  
“I understand. But as I said she is meant to be attending me, so won’t you release her to me, Sers?”Sansa reached out and grabbed Jommi’s arm, pulling the girl.

  
“Don’t get full of yourself now, you wolf bitch, just because you married the savage doesn’t mean you're any safer here than back in Kings Landing!” the other, Marvan snarled.

  
“And don’t feel so assured of your own safety either, or you’ll find I may be able to convince one of the bored men here to gut you like the others at my wedding!” Sansa threatened quickly grabbing Jommi from them and pulling her towards Irri and Jhiqui.

  
She was sick of them thinking they were untouchable, that they had some place in her new life and treat her no different than they had before.

  
“Sansa!” Shae snapped, worried about what had gotten into the girl.

  
Sansa turned from the men and hurried away, speaking to Jommi. “You stay close to me!”

  
The girl, whether she actually understood or not just nodded her head.

  
Further away, Drogo was watching his new wife, his eyes trailing her form as she returned to the safety of her tent.

  
Inside Sansa threw herself down across some large, plush pillows that had been set out for her.

  
“Do you speak the common tongue, Jommi?” Sansa asked the young girl, taking her in. She was slight, thin but her clothes were tight. Still growing. Her dark hair was pulled back, taunt, in tight twists.

  
“A small,” the girl said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  
“A little,” Sansa corrected her. “It doesn’t matter though.”

  
And really, it didn’t. Sansa had learned a good deal of Dothraki already on her trip to Myr, and thought it was such a hard language on the mouth, she would use it where she could if needed.

  
Sansa looked at Jhiqui. “Can you find her some looser clothes, it seems she’s outgrowing the ones she wearing.”

  
“Yes, Khaleesi.” Jhiqui left the tent, returning a bit later with a new skirt and tunic for the young girl.

  
“Tell her she can stay here until dark, then she should go back to her own tent and stay their for the rest of the night.” she told Irri. She conveyed her words to the girl who continued to stand anxiously after she had changed.

  
“Sit.” That the girl understood, taking a place on the floor of her tent.

  
“Do we have any wine, Shae?” Sansa asked.

  
“Yes,” she said and already began to fetch the cups and jug. She poured Sansa her glass first and then her own. After a moment looking at the scared girl, Jommi, she poured the child a glass and gave it to her.

  
“It smells too fresh here, I miss the scent of corpses and shit of King's Landing.” Shae sighed.

  
“How could you miss such a terrible smell.” Sansa nearly choked on her wine. “How disgusting.”

  
Shae just laughed and swallowed down her own glass. “What can I say, I’ve always been a big city type of whore.”

  
Sansa rolled her eyes.

  
“So, how was it?” Shae asked.

  
“How was what?” Sansa closed her eyes.

  
“I thought you weren’t stupid.” Shae challenged her.

  
Sansa sighed. “It was painful and far more violent than I had imagined it would be. We were like animals.”

  
“From that bite on your neck I can imagine,” her friend snorted.

  
“Well if you keeping fucking him like that you’ll end up more bruised than you were in King's Landing.” she warned the younger girl.

  
Sansa knew Shae was right. Being a little rough was one thing, but what she and Drogo did had been nearly abusive. It was not fun or pleasurable and didn’t feel any bit of good afterwards. She didn’t want every time to be like that, she wasn’t sure if she could survive coupling like that too many times.

  
“Best you quickly take the lead next time,” was Shae’s good advice.

  
When night came, Jommi left, escorted back to her own little tent under the stars. Sansa was brought her supper, told by Irri she would sup alone and would do so every night. The Khal ate with his Bloodriders, spending in fact, most of his time with them. Jhiqui also told her not to expect him to join her for sleep, the Khal partaking in the nightly games and entertainment with his Bloodriders. Sansa already foresaw a lonely marriage.

  
After her meal, she was changed for bed, dismissing her ladies and Shae for the rest of the night. Once alone, Sansa laid across her pillows and curled herself beneath the furrs, still aching and throbbing between her legs.

  
She tried not to cry, but she did. Under the noise of the fires and the men and women no one would hear her sobs and she felt thankful for that. She cried herself to sleep that night only to be woken hours later, when dawn was soon to rise, by rough groping hands.

  
She gave a small groan as she woke, annoyed that she was being disturbed, but then the realization of the hands on her startled her awake and she grasped the blade beneath her pillow. Sliding it out she slashed a backwards arch towards the intruder, rolling her whole body with it until she was on her back.

  
The face above her didn’t set into her mind right away, almost too late if not for the man's hand catching her wrist, the tip of the knife pointed at the arch of his shoulder and neck. It was Khal Drogo! Sansa let out a horrified gasp and then a cry when he squeezed her wrist so tight she had to drop her knife.

  
“ **Is this why you were given to me?** ” he roared in his guttural Dothraki. “ **To kill me!?** ”

  
“No!” she shook her head, terrified of her large husband, a dark mass that could crush her.

  
“ **Than what is this?!** ” he asked and this was probably the most Sansa had ever heard him speak.

  
 **“It is not meant for you.** ” she leaned up on one arm, not backing down despite how much he was hurting her wrist. “ **It’s for every other man other than you who think they can have me!”**

  
He eased his grip on her wrist, so small and fragile, yet the hand attached to it had swung the small blade with such force. He stared at her, her eyes blue and burning as she breathed a little easier now that he had let her wrist go.

  
“No,” he shook his head.

  
 **“You are Khaleesi, no one will touch you**.” he told her, throwing her knife across the tent, landing with a clatter against a stool.

  
**“You are protected,”** he told Sansa. She didn’t believe him.

  
 **“Are you going to hurt me?** ” she asked. After all she had just attempted to assassinate her husband, even if she hadn’t realized it was him.

  
“No.” He let go of her wrist completely and put his hands on her face, ignoring how she flinched at first before she realized he was making to kiss her.

  
She relaxed a bit, but was still scared but she relaxed. She couldn’t freeze up every time her husband went to kiss her. It was his right after all to kiss her and do much more. Sansa was surprised though, remembering Shae say that the Dothraki didn’t kiss. Still, here Drogo was, pulling her face to his, his lips on hers, mouth opening mouth to slip tongue inside the other.

  
He was a deep kisser, it wasn’t completely unpleasant though and made her thighs tremble and the place between her legs tingle.

  
She moaned, and she could fee him try to start nudging her back over. Her knees were still sore from before, so she took Shae’s earlier advice and tried to take the lead. Opening her legs for him to settle between, she had her knees bent at his hips, a leg hooked around a strong thigh. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down more to settle atop her, just kissing for a while though she could feel his impatience as he tried to free himself from her legs, struggling to get his pants off. Sansa finally let go of him, helping him out of his britches, undoing the belts and knots and pushing them down his ass, brushing over the dark globes.

  
She really didn’t want to have sex again, she still hurt, but she didn’t dare turn him away either. When his pants were off, he scooted back on his knees, grabbing one leg to bring it to the other so she wasn’t straddling him and grabbed her hips, turning her over.

  
She pushed his hands away.

  
“No?” he asked. Sansa tried not to roll her eyes.

  
“You said I was beautiful.” she reminded him. “Than look upon my face when you take me.”

  
He looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before grabbing her legs and yanking her thighs apart again and then pulled her body down the furs so they were pelvis to pelvis.

  
Sansa braced one hand on his shoulder and than the other two his cock between them, helping to guide him to her entrance. She was not as wet as she wished she was, but he slid in all the same, watching her face twist and contort with the painful girth of him inside her.

  
“No?” he asked again.

  
Sansa shook her head. **“Start slow.** ”

  
She told him, hitching her legs higher up on his hips for a better, smoother angle. He helped her by holding her ass up, so that not all the strain would be on her legs to do it.  
As she asked him to, he started slow, his dark eyes on her face the entire time as he moved in and out of her heat. She didn’t clench around him like she had before, but she was still just as tight around him. He watched curious, when she brought her hand to the space between them her fingers playing with a spot at the top of her entrance. He knew what it was, heard of it, of how women sought pleasure but he had never paid mind to it when he fucked women before. He wasn’t doing it for them after all, but about him and his pleasure. Yet there was something about the way she did it, the gasps she made and the glazed look in her eyes. Most of all, when she touched that spot it felt better inside her, tighter and wetter.

  
He watched the jiggle of her breasts as he thrusts, the perk of her mounds and the tempting hardness of her nipples. Drogo took one hand from her hip and moved it to cup her tit, arching the small of his back and pushing him a bit deeper inside her and closing his eyes at the little gasp his wife made as he added another inch.

  
Sansa scratched his arms, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose biting her lip innocently when Drogo gave her a hard look. She started rolling her own hips against him eventually, tossing her head side to side when he moved a bit faster, her fingers working that sweet little but of pleasure. He bent himself over her, head pressed to the fur next to her.

  
She turned her face towards his and craned her neck to kiss the side of his mouth, her arms around him, hands running over the parts of him she could reach. She breathed heavy, breast rising and falling. Drogo lifted his head kissing his wife while his hips stuttered before finally coming inside of her.  
Sansa hadn’t climaxed but it had been better than the last.


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So honestly I thought the time it took to get across the Narrow Sea was a lot longer than it actually is. From what I’ve read a lot of people are saying it would probably take a week, maybe two at the most. So Sansa’s recovery time is probably ridiculously fast.   
> But you know what, if fucking Little Finger and Varys can teleport Sansa can magically recover from a blood clot and surgery after two weeks. Sorry if this upsets you, but I’m in too deep now. In fact if you want. You can ignore Sansa’s leg injury in its entirely. I honestly don’t even know why I wrote it. I guess it was too fill space really in a chapter or two. It may or may not come up once more in this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of an idea as to the time frame and events before this as we now go back to Westeros for a little while.  
> 1.Pretty much everything in westeros focuses around season 2, while in Essos with Sansa we’re still in the season 1 plot so far.   
> 2.It’s been about a year and half, to two years that Sansa was in the capitol.  
> Nedd died about six months after their arrival to Kings Landing.   
> 3.His bones were sent another good few months after that to Robb’s camp as an act of ‘goodwill’ by the Lannisters to end the war. With the bones came Petyr who was still threatened by Catelyn and since it being Robbs camp was kicked out for his forwardness and clear disrespect of Nedd. Plus Robb just doesn’t like him  
> 4.Petyr went back to Kings Landing in time for Sansa’s new bethrohtral, he left afterwards for Renly’s camp  
> 5.Renly was killed in the time Sansa was sailing to Myr.  
> 6.Robb has not met Jeyne or Talisa, whatever her name is.   
> 7.Catelyn is back at Robbs camp now with Brienne.   
> 8.They still have Jaime  
> 9.Arya is at Harrenhal right now, she’s been there quite a while serving as Tywin’s squire as he took an interest in her because of her wit and knowledge of the north.

When the Hawk arrives, landing on a raven's perch, the men were anxious as to what it meant and more so what the message it had with it contained. Still, one of them men went to it, taking the letter. It was addressed to Lady Catelyn. 

  
They hurried to bring it to her while also informing Robb in case it was from an enemy. When Catelyn opened the letter and recognized Sansa’s hand writing, no one was sure it still wasn’t an enemy. Sansa had been in the Capitol for almost two years, they had no real proof as to where her loyalty could lie now. 

  
When Robb heard their whispers he threatened to have their tongues cut out.

  
When Robb reached his mother's tent his greeting was a slap to his face, Brienne of Tarth watching them both carefully, waiting to see if the boy retaliated. Her hand was on her sword, ready to protect Lady Stark.

His mother had never hit him, he was so shocked he couldn’t even be angry. The case was even more so when he saw the tears in her eyes. She had cried so much as of late. His father. His sisters and now they had received word that Theon had become a turn cloak, taking Winterfell for his own with Bran and Rickon as his hostages. 

  
“Is she---?”

  
“Read for yourself!” she told him and shoved the parchment into his chest. 

  
He did. As his mother took a seat in a chair, face in her hands, he read the familiar curving lines of Sansa’s hand writing. The last he saw of it was when the Queen had forced her to write to him, telling him to come to King's Landing and surrender himself on bent knees.

“I told you we couldn’t leave her in that wretched woman's hands!” Catelyn shouted at her son. “But no, you put the feelings of your men and your own foolish pride over your sister's wellbeing!”

She knew she was acting over emotional, that the men could hear her. But she didn’t care. 

  
“You’re father went to war for his sister and his men still followed him. Sansa is as much Stark as you or your brothers and yet you’ve treated her in this war as if she is some stranger not worth the sacrifice!”

He looked at her, hurt and guilty, but his mother only glared and ordered him to keep reading. 

Robb’s heart broke when she began to question his love for her. And why wouldn’t she? He had left her, failed to protect her as he always swore to do when they were children. Robb had hated that she had been so taken with that cunt Joffrey. His sister was not the sweetest girl, but she was his sister, doting and clever with a head full of songs and heart filled with great, big romantic dreams. She still deserved better than Joffrey. 

Beautiful Sansa, who would always run to him, who would make him play her games and be her knight or prince of flowers. No matter when or where, whenever she cried out for him, he would run to her. He thought he had been doing that again, marching South to take King's Landing. 

“Please leave us?” he asked Brienne, who looked to his mother. She nodded.

  
“I will only be outside, My lady.” said Brienne, walking past Robb and leaving the tent.

“You were right.” he told his mother once alone. “Why am fighting if it’s not for the girls, why did I start this if wasn’t to get them and father back?”

  
Robb held the letter by his thigh, shoulders slumped as he looked helplessly towards his mother. Why hadn’t he just listened to her?

  
“I didn’t think they would hurt her.” he admitted. “I didn’t imagine that they could be that stupid after the retaliation after father's death. I was wrong, I’ve been so wrong and now----”

“Now Sansa has been sold off to some---” he couldn’t even think of another word for this Khal.

  
“She should be married to a Lord who treasures her and can provide for her. She deserves more.  _ Father,   _ wanted more for her.” 

“We can still get to Arya, we can still find her, Robb.” Catelyn stood, quickly crossing the distance between them and gingerly touching the cheek she had hit.

  
“I’m sorry. I should have raised my hand to you like that.”

  
“No, I deserved it, Mother.” he bowed his head and touched her wrist. He’s been so full of himself, so blinded by the light upon the height of his own pedestal. 

  
“We’ll find Arya, we’ll bring her home.” he told her, filled with determination.

“But if what Sansa says is true than she should have reached us by now!” Catelyn said, fretful and worried. 

“Not if she’s been on foot all this time. Just think of how long it took Robert and his men to reach Winterfell on horse.” he tried to ease her worries.

“I’ll send some men out on patrols, we’ve been moving a lot so I’m sure the only reason she hasn’t reached us yet is because we’re gone by the time she gets to one of our old camps.”

  
“Sansa said she might head for the wall, to---” 

Robb sighed, knowing his mother's dislike for his bastard half brother. “To Jon.”

“I’ll send him a Raven,” he knew Jon would watch over Arya if she did reach the wall.

  
“And what of Sansa?” she asked him.

  
“I’ll take the south, and when the Lannisters are dealt with I will find a way to get her away from that---” he swallowed angrily. “That man and bring her home too, I promise.” 

“That could take years, Robb!” Catelyn thought, thinking of the wins and losses of the war. They no longer had any potential to grow their numbers now that Renly was gone, there were few allies left to make and after Theon had betrayed them it was hard to know which of your allies might betray you next.

“My poor girl. I couldn’t even teach her yet what to expect, of being a wife, of being a mother. Oh Robb, my sweet girl, my sweet girl is all alone…” Catelyn gave in, scared for her child, for her daughter facing another great danger so far from her.

“We can’t just leave her there, it’s not right, they’ll ruin her.” her daughter may be in a comfortable mance now, but when she wed she would be in a caravan of brutes and slaves, a life far more dangerous and foreign to her than the one she had been living in the capitol.  

“She won’t survive, she’s not like Arya.” Catelyn sobbed. 

She should never have let her leave with Nedd, should have kept the girls with her. 

Robb hugged his mother, holding her as she sobbed, trying to comfort his mother as best as he could.  He wished he could sail across the seas, grab his sister and run right back, but things were not that simple to accomplish.

  
Catelyn remembered the day Sansa was born. She had been so easy to carry, calm and obedient even inside her and even her delivery went as smoothly as if she had already given life a dozen times before. Yet she came out with such powerful cry and she wouldn’t stop, not until Nedd held her for the first time. He rung the bells for her, his darling daughter. 

Nedd had been so scared to hold her, Catelyn had to practically fight him to get Sansa into his arms. And he cradled her, like the most fragile thing in the word, she instantly fell silent eyes looking right up at her father with the most innocent interests in the world. It was the first time, she had ever saw her husband cry. 

At first, he wanted to name Sansa after his sister, but after the war had just ended so soon ago she convinced him otherwise. As Sansa grew, he would confide in her about how much Sansa was actually like his sister. She had the same, tender, romantic heart where Arya had Lyanna’s free spirit and strong conviction. It made Catelyn terribly anxious to hear those things, but she never told him that. She was always so scared Sansa would fall for some boy not meant for her and run off, it was why she had especially made sure Jon stayed far from her. She had noticed the way he glanced at her sometimes and the way Sansa’s eyes would follow him in the training yard and didn’t like it one bit.  So she taught Sansa to shun him, to ignore him and have nothing to do with him. He was a bastard and her father was far too kind to keep him around and dirty the reputation of their marriage.    
She would not have anymore shame on the Stark name. 

Robb was at her cradle constantly and when Sansa learned to walk she was always at her mother's heel, already learning, already knowing her place. She fell into her role as a highborn girl so easily. Her lessons, the courtesies, it came so effortlessly for Sansa.  Of course she was not a perfect child, but she tried very hard to be what was expected of her,  always doing what she was told. But as sweet as she could be she could also be quite the tart. It made her father laugh sometimes, but Catelyn was afraid it was because she spoiled Sansa and did not focus as much on making sure Sansa also remained humble and kind. 

Catelyn missed Sansa. Missed her songs and brushing her hair, missed her laugh and her innocent heart.

“We’ll write back, we’ll make sure Sansa knows she hasn’t been forgotten,” he told her. If not for her than for himself, to ease some of the guilt he was now feeling. He didn’t know what else he could promise. 

Robb still had a war to fight and now he had enemies at his front and his back.

Now knowing Joffrey no longer had his sisters, The Kingslayer in their custody was of little value. Tywin had made it clear there was no negotiating anymore and Cersei no longer had anything to give them in return for her brother. They could just say he was alive and well. After all the Lannisters had been lying about Arya being their hostage, and what satisfaction it would bring to cut off the golden head of the Kingslayer before all his men, a glimpse of the justice to come. 

The men were beginning to get restless having Jaime with them.  Soon, he would have to decide what to do with him. 

When Robb left his mother and was in his own tent again, he sat at the small writing table and stared down at the blank parchment wondering  what he could possibly say to his sister. He almost wished she was more angry with him, wanted to be with her and hear the rage in her voice, feel her feeble fists beast angrily against his chest as she yelled at him. 

His candle had nearly gone out by the time he managed to put the quill to the paper.

After Robb left Catelyn rushed to her own writing table, quickly dipping her quill in the inkle bottle and fervently wrote out her love for her daughter. Brienne watched the woman with a sympathetic heart. She was a strong woman, and one who loved her children with her entire being.

“Sansa was my first girl.” she told Brienne, making conversation one night. “The first ones are always a bit special I think. They’re the ones who hold the future on their shoulders. They have so much more responsibility than the ones after them. I think you know that though,”   
Brienne nodded, the first and last child of her own parents.

“But Sansa, she was always so sure of herself, took to her role like a fish to water.” Catelyn laughed thinking of the Tully banner. “Everyone says she’s like me, and I think that always comforted me. All my other children, they clearly have the Stark character, but Sansa has always been a bit more Tully than Stark.”

“She was my greatest companion outside of Nedd. I could spend my days with her, talking with her, listening to her sing and brushing her hair. Though I imagine you may get along far better with my younger daughter Arya.” she continued to talk about her other children for hours with Brienne, the woman only happy to listen to her lady.

After she was finished with her letter she ordered someone to bring some feed to Sansa’s hawk. They would let it rest and then send their letters with it in the morning back to Sansa. Meanwhile, Catelyn tried to think of why Arya hadn’t reached them yet. It had been nearly a year and a half since their father's death when Sansa said she had disappeared, the queen unable to find her. What roads could her brave girl have possibly taken? What had become of her out in the hard, cold world beyond a keeps walls. 

Then there was Sansa, somewhere in Essos married to a man who might as well have been a Wilding! No land, no title, no claims to anything other than what they choose to take for their own through pillaging. That was not the time people her Sansa belonged with, she deserved a good and noble husband. 

Most of all any children she had with that Dothraki warlord would never be seen as legitimate, having married neither under the old or new gods. They had to get her back before that could happen. If Sansa had any luck she would not be so quick to fall with child as Cat had after her own marriage. 

It was midday of the next, her and Robbs letter sent out that morning by the Hawk, when Catelyn decided to take action into her own hands.   
When night fell she went with Brienne to Jaime Lannister.

“My daughter Sansa has been sent to Essos and has married a Dothraki Warlord.” she told him.

“Oh, and here I thought she was going to be marrying Joffrey. The dear girl seemed quite smitten with him, though I dare say not so much since he had your husband's head cut off in front of her.”  he said, that damn smirk on his face.

“Is that a woman behind you?” Jaime tilted himself to see past Catelyn to Brienne just outside the cage. 

Catelyn didn’t answer him but Brienne did step inside, keeping behind her lady, hand on sword. 

“Now that we know Sansa is no longer your houses hostage, nor do they have my youngest daughter either, you are to be put to death now that there is no chance of us getting them back in exchange for you.” she told him, sneering down at him. She nearly smiled when he saw him visibly pale, his face falling.

“I’m assuming you know what that means for you? Robb left this morning and Lord Karstark believe my son won’t very much mind if he beheads you in his absence.” Her son had left in order to fulfill his promise to lord Fray for allowing him to pass. With his younger brothers hostage, the wisest thing to do was take and a wife and get her with child so that their would still be an heir in the case Robb or his brothers were killed.

“I must admit I’m curious to why your daughter was sold to such a man, it seems rather foolish with nothing to gain from it.”

  
“It was your sister that sent her away.” she told him. “That wretched woman never had any fondness for my daughter despite Sansa doing everything possible to please her and your bastard boy. She even lost her direwolf doing so!”

"You really do hate bastards don't you?" he asked her. "That boy, Snow, was it? Must have really made you sick then. You hated that boy with every ouce of your being I'm sure. Dear honorable Nedd, bringing back a whore sons for you to raise with your own babes."

Their was a pause and Catelyn spoke again. “You're going to bring Sansa back.”

  
“And how dare may I ask can I do that chained in this cage of mine?” he asked, leaning back against his restraints. 

“Brienne.” her name was an unspoken order and she stepped forward, removing her sword.

“Where did you get this beast?” Jamie asked.

“Killing me won’t get you your daughter back!” Jaime tried to save his skin.

“Your right, it wont.” she said.

“I can not wait for this war to be over for my son to make the time or spare the men to retrieve Sansa. If she is ever to wed again, into a good horse, than she can not have a bastard. Unlike you men who can have a dozen of them, birthing one bastard can ruin her life forever.”

“It didn’t ruin Cersei, perhaps your daughter is far more cunning than you could imagine. She may find a way to make the best of her situation.” Jaime found himself giving the girl more credit than he actually thought her capable of.

“My daughter is nothing like your sister. She may not be the most humble of girls, but she could be good and kind. That is more than I can say for your sister!” she spat. “She would have been a good queen, so easy to love and quick to learn.”

  
“That's probably why Cersei shipped her off. She never liked having competition.” he told her, standing slowly, hands still chained up. Brienne held her sword pointed at his heart. 

  
“Swear to me, if you find my daughter in Essos alive and well, you’ll send her back to me,” she looked down at him. “And I’ll let you go. Save my daughter, and you can go back to your sister.”

  
Jaime didn’t hesitate, not when it came to Cersei.

  
“I swear, to the old gods and the new, I will find Sansa and send her back you alive and well if that is how I find her.”

“Do it, Brienne.” with the command, Brienne moved and broke the chains that bound Jaime to the post with her sword. 

“Brienne is going to smuggle you out of camp, the two of you will find a ship and sail to essos, there you will search out Sansa and bring her home to me.” Cat explained.

Catelyn knew what she was risking but what she already had to lose outweighed any consequences this may bring.

“You love your children very much, that is a quality you will always share with Cersei like it or not.” he told her.

  
“And what of you, Jaime Lannister, do you love your children?” she asked, her back to him as she made to leave but had paused at his words. 

Jaime did not answer her.

“You should hurry.” she told Brienne and left them. 

When it was discovered what had happened Catelyn was quickly detained and heavily guarded as not to cause any more problems. A man was sent to the twins to give Robb the news of the King Slayers escape and his mother's participation in it.


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I would like to apologize to the people who were in the middle of reading the original posted chapters.  
> For those who did read the previous chapters I had up and were wondering about the five dragons Sansa found, they will still be in this story, but not for a little bit I'm afraid. So please stop freaking out!  
> To my own surprise, I actually have some shit planned out and not just writing blind as I go.  
> I have some really creative exciting ideas that I can't wait to start writing. You guys are definitely going to be surprised.

It had been near a month Sansa had been married to Drogo and she was quickly finding ways to be productive and useful to her husband even if it wasn’t always her place. She would sit with him why he oversaw issues between men, being it sharing a woman or a plot of area for camp. Many of the matters were settled through violence as was the Dothraki way. For those times when fighting could not solve the issue, or where Sansa just had enough of it, she would step in and gently make a suggestion to Drogo quietly.

Sometimes he listened and other times he did not. At least he listened at all was a miracle. Sansa had been so worried after that night in which she near stabbed him. He did not forbid her from having it, but he had her keep it under her furs or cott rather than her pillow. Re rather no accidently get cut while he fucked his wife. 

Slowly, but surely, things were becoming easier for Sansa. She had used the fabric she had to make a number of suitable attire. She was not yet ready to pull on a pair of trousers, but she found ways to wrap her thighs and cut the sides of her gowns, hemming the slits. It made it easier for riding and still held that flow and coverage she was used to. Her skin had begun to burn under the hot sun during their rides so she kept to wearing a thing shawl over her shoulders or a gown with light, thin sleeves as not to overheat. 

She was quite creative, quickly engineered garments that both kept to her tastes and suited her lifestyle. It was clear, by her silks and lace that she was not like the others of the Khalasar, but Sansa didn’t mind that. No matter what, she was still a highborn woman, she was not a slave, she was not born Dothraki, and she wanted to hold some pride and symbol of who she was and where she had come from visibly so no one could doubt that. Her silks and lace were as good as any crown atop her head. 

She was Khaleesi.

There were still many who did not like or approve of her. She was a foreign white woman who had no place by their Khals side. She wanted to prove that they were wrong. This was her new life, and damn if she wasn’t going to try and make the best of it. 

She had convinced Drogo to try and learn some of the common tongue. It had not been easy to get him to even take a try at it. They had argued over it for days. The argument was mostly on her side while Drogo just grunted in a refusing tone at her and walked away. Of course she chased after, she was a very stubborn woman Drogo was learning.

He did not necessarily dislike that though. In fact, he found it quite amusing sometimes when it wasn’t irritating.

Sansa was intent on teaching him the common tongue, or at least some of it so that she could give her own mouth a rest from the harsh dialect and have a conversation with her husband. Drogo didn’t see any need for it. Those that needed to speak with him were wise enough to learn his language on their own if they wished to convey something to him so badly, or have another do it for them. Why did he need to take the time to bother with a language he had no need for. Yet his wife found ways to convince him, finding more and more creative ways with her body to give him incentive. He wouldn’t complain, either way he would have her but it was better when they both enjoyed themselves he found out.

Drogo though his wife a sneaky witch, treating him like some animal that got a reward every time he did something that pleased her, such as learning a new word in that tongue of hers. He knew her game, but he would let her think she had the control for now. But in the end, she had come to crave his touch and his cock as much as he craved the heat of her cunt and the softness of her hands on his skin. He had and feeling it was that woman she had brought with her that was teaching her the pillow tricks, but Sansa on her own was a passionate lover to begin with. There were nights where all she needed was to ride him long and slow, touching herself and just letting herself have the satisfaction of their coupling. At long last she had managed to reach her own orgasm, and it was just as good for him as it was for her. The way she squeezed around him when she came was incredible. On other nights, they were beasts, biting and scratching one another, backs arched and heads thrown back.

He noticed the way Sansa looked at other woman, at the dancers that would rock and sway for him. She watched them with the same hunger and amusement as he did, so one day, very recently in fact he brought another woman into their tent. He was curious to how she would react. He was not disappointed.

At first Sansa had been scandalized, as if he was insulting her. But he quickly calmed her down, explaining it was not for him but for. He told he he had noticed the way she eyed his dancers. She had blushed and denied it before he caught her jaw in his hand, catching her mouth in his and told her it was nothing to be ashamed of.  He didn’t mind at all. 

What would anger him was if she went off and enjoyed herself without him or his permission, that would be unacceptable. Sansa was still unsure. She was embarrassed, but the woman quickly had Sansa persuaded to join when she pushed Sansa down, pushed up her skirt and put her mouth to her cunt.

Shae thought it was hysterical. Her sweet, innocent Sansa embracing her carnal desires, and with the approval of her husband no less. At least she had more to talk about with Sansa now. 

The truth was, it made Shae miss Tyrion and all the fun they had. 

Sometimes, being with Sansa, and watching her flourish and her relationship steadily improve with Drogo made her sad. She had not slept with another man since him, and did not plan too. She was a whore, but it didn’t feel right anymore, it felt like a betrayal to Tyrion. 

She thought about the Hounds words, how their were thousands of whores and Tyrion had most likely already found another to warm his bed. Still she missed her lion, his humor and cleverness. She missed the way he had stroked the thin, soft skin just behind her ear.

She had nothing to talk about with Irri or Jhiqui and was not even lucky to share a similar sense of humor, her jokes and stories lost to them. But eventually Shae, with her new knowledge of the Dothraki language joined some of the men and women at night by the pits, laughing and telling stories with them.  It gave some peace to Sansa to see her friend finding her own place.

They were riding, the Khalasar moving again, when Slate at last found them again. She imagined when she caught sight of the hawk, that finding them might have been a bit more difficult with them one the move. Sansa took out her glove from a bag on her horse and slipped it on before holding out her arm for a place for it to land. She had near forgotten about the gift Lord Varys had given her.

  
After taking the message from the bird's leg she had Irri put slate in her cage and have her fed and given water. 

  
Drogo looked back at her. He had not been aware that she had been sending out correspondence to anyone. 

  
The scroll that Slate had brought back were in fact two separate letters rolled together. One from Robb and the other from her mother. Jhiqui took to guiding the mare Sansa rode so that she could read them without worrying the horse would veer astray from the rest.

Sansa heart pounded as she unravelled the roll, holding the ends so that the parchment was held straight and she could read the words. 

_ Sister, _

_ We have received your letter. These words are not a cruel forgery by Cersei and Joffrey, I swear.  _

_  
_ _ I’m so sorry I let you suffer, that you feel I have forgotten my duty to you. More so I am sorry for the pain and humiliation you were forced to endure because of me. I wanted to believe so badly that every success I met and battle I won meant a step closer to you and Arya, to saving you, instead it seems I have been slowly killing you instead. _

_ I never wanted you to feel unloved, or that I was angry with you. Please believe me when I tell you that I did not trade the Kingslayer because you were not worth it, because I did not love you or because I am upset with you. It’s not that simple.  I would have lost  leverage over our enemy if I had given Jaime Lannister back and if I was so quick to the Kingslayer up for two girls I thought my men would think me weak. _

_ I was a fool. You and Arya are not some mere girls, you are Stark's, my sisters and as mother has reminded me father went to war for his sister, and his men still followed him into battle. I was a selfish, big headed idiot who didn’t want to lose the respect of his men and in doing so risked losing something far more dear. You and Arya. _

_  
_ _ I am glad you are free now, I fear what they might have done to you if you had continued to stay in their clutches. Please, believe me Sansa that I didn’t think they were fool enough to hurt you. But I should have known that prat Joffrey might pull something like this, the cruel little prick.  _

_  
_ _ As your brother, I should have spoken against the betrothal. I knew from the moment I saw him he was no good. I saw the way you looked at him, when he came through the gates of our home. I should have put a stop to it then, pulled you back, kept you far from him. He may have looked a prince, but he was a twisted, spoiled little shit and as much of a spoiled brat you could be as well, you deserved better.  _

_  
_ _ After I heard of King Robert's offer to betroth you and Joffrey, I should have went to father, told him it was a mistake. I would have helped him and mother find you a far better husband, one I knew and they knew could love and protect you as they did one another.  _

_ It seems wrong that you are married yet I still am not.  _

_  
_ _ So I will be wedding one of Walder Frey's daughters. Perhaps it’s better me than you. I think he wanted you to marry one of his sons if I recall. It was one of the first early offers of a betrothal father received for either of us. I leave in the morning. As you have wed a stranger so will I. When I arrive at the Twins it will be the first I’ve ever spoke to her or seen her.  _

_ I wish I could have seen you when you wed, I am sure you were dressed beautifully and I wish you could be here for my own, small ceremony. I still remember when you were a little girl, dragging me and Theon about to the Maester to have a pretend wedding. I used to get so annoyed with you, but I would give anything to go back to those sweet, simple days. _

_  
_ _ Sansa, I know that you have always strongly believed in the words of our mothers house, but please be careful. You are still far from my reach to rescue, make sure you no longer hold the same delusions of marriage as you once did as you. I am happy you still dream of having a happy marriage where you and your husband mutually care for one another, but I am unsure if that is something your Dothraki husband can even understand. Just be careful. _

_ We have yet to see or hear of Arya, but I will have my men keep a look our for any sign of her. I have also sent a raven to Jon at the wall to do the same. She’ll find her way home, be that to me or to Jon. _

_ You will too. _

_  
_ _ I will get you back, Sansa, I swear I will bring you home. I know this is cruel of me to ask but just be patient.  Before I can go home and rescue the boys, I have to defeat Tywin Lannister's forces, and to do that I can’t spare any of my men to go to Essos and get you from that horse lord.  _

_ There is so much at stake Sansa. You’ve always been the dutiful one, you above all should understand. Be brave sister. You have always been stronger than you know. _

_ You have not been forgotten. I love you, Sansa. _

_ Your brother,  _

_  
_ _ Robb Stark, King in the North _

Sansa at first could not think very well on her brother's words. He had become a man her brother, he was leading an army and fighting alongside his men, and all because they were both foolish children with too much ambition. She, to marry into royalty and her brother to rule the North for the first time. She could not fault him. She did understand. It just didn’t make any of it hurt less. If anything at all it just made her feel more like the stupid girl she had been in kings landing. Her life was not a song. She had been told this countless times yet still she believed that her brother would come galloping in on his horse, his Direwolf by his side, cutting through her captors and giving her Joffrey’s head as he rescued her. 

She was so, so stupid. 

She touched her fingers to the words. It was the first she had heard of from her brother. The first message sent directly to her. It made her heart swell with familiar love and longing. 

But the news of what Theon had done made anger boil in her stomach and burn her blood. How dare he! He was their brother, hers and Robbs, Arya, Rickon and Bran’s and he took them as his hostage and betrayed them all. He may have been their father's ward, a token of war, but he had never been mistreated in any way. 

How could he do something like that? Had he just been waiting for the opportunity to take Winterfell all these years, did they really mean nothing to him at all that he could so easily betray their family?

  
Sansa just couldn’t understand. She didn’t want to believe it was true, but she could not imagine why Robb would ever lie about such a thing.

  
She hoped Arya was safe, that she had not been able to reach their home and be taken by Theon without them knowing. 

  
Then there was Robb.

He was getting married. She wondered if he had decided to do so to make her feel better, but she remembered her conversation with Tyrion before she left, when she had gotten drunk. 

This would be good for her brother. Taking a wife should ensure that the Fray's put up no more resistance in giving Robb their forces, their loyalty not tied to him and his house via marriage. It was a wise choice. 

At least she knew Robb would not mistreat his new wife, that he was a man of honor and would treat her well and care for her. There was joy to be had in his marriage, the security it meant if he could get her with child. Their house would continue, but most of all she hoped that Bran and Rickon would be rescued so they could grow up and take wives of their own, families and lands, their house once more an abundance of members to carry the North and keep it safe.

She touched her own stomach, wondering how long it would be until she had her own babe growing in her belly. She and Drogo had sex everyday, sometimes twice a day. She tried to remember how long it was after a wedding most women fell pregnant. When had she last bled? It had been sometime on the ship, near the end of their voyage. She should have some more time before her next bleeding came. 

She felt nervous, if she did become with child and Robb did come for her what would become of it? But if she didn’t get with child what would Drogo do. Would he throw her aside, take Daenerys Targaryen as his bride? If that happened and Viserys began to move towards Westeros than Cersei would have her killed. The knights that had stayed had yet to be killed as the kept careful eyes on her, reporting back to the queen. She was lucky that she managed to keep them at the very back of the Khalasar, far from her. They may have seen Slate, but they wouldn’t have been able to see her clearly land from their distance back.  So far in the front, she was safe to read her letters.

Anxious she put Robbs letter behind the next so that she could read her mother's words. She desperately needed her mother's advice. 


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Drogo become closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long, I went through about 3 different drafts of this, each one focusing on a different character until I settled on this.  
> I want to try and keep the chapters focused on Sansa but some situations do require outside perspective.

His wife was upset. 

Ever since her pet had brought those letters to her she seemed to have retreated into herself and avoided others. She dismissed her servants most nights, keeping only that woman Shae with her for the most part, whispering to one another in that language she was trying to get him to learn. He nearly regretted not paying more attention because he could not understand what they were saying. 

Drogo would not have thought when they first married her happiness would mean very little to him, that she would manage and be content with his protection. After all she was the one who took the initiative at their first meeting, she had wished to marry him so she should have been well aware of the life he lived and the man he was. 

She was beautiful and when she has spoken to him in his language, he was momentarily impressed with her. She was not some lowly woman, a slave but a refined woman that was giving herself to him and he had wanted to wreck her when she stood before him. Her body was tantalizing, he wanted to jump from his horse, turn her around and take her right then and there like any other Dothraki would have done to a woman that caught his eye. 

It was the way she held herself though, the determined set of her jaw and confident placement of her shoulders all in contrast with the anger and fear he saw in her eyes. But she hadn’t stepped back when she saw him, she had stepped forward and eyed him just as he eyed her.

He thought she was strange and interesting. She had a good body he could tell from under the dress she wore, tall with good hips that would carry a child well. So Drogo thought no harm in accepting the tempting offer in front of him,  in exchange for the promise of staying exactly where he was. He knew he could have taken her if he had wanted without agreeing to anything, words of a foreign lands leader meant nothing to him. 

Drogo knew nothing of these Lannisters or their King and they held no power of sway over him. But he had been urged by his bloodriders and people to take a woman and have sons, so why not have another option from a good stock? All someone had to do was right a few words on parchment or give a hollow promise from some silken dressed Magister in his name.

He had been offered another woman to do the opposite of what was asked of him for Sansa. A girl near the same age as his wife who was said to have hair touched by snow where his wife was touched by fire. He had been curious when this Daenerys was described to him, and though he had been pressed to take a wife and the offer of her hand came before Sansa, he thought it not the worth of making his men travel across poison water for a pompous little shit. He was Khal Drogo, if he wanted a wife he would have one and not owe anyone anything.  

So he agreed to meet this ‘Sansa Stark’ instead.  Without ever going to see the other to compare the women, he decided on Sansa when he saw that look in her eyes that set him ablaze with the thought of a good challenge. And she was a challenge that he took on happily, but in these few short months she was certainly becoming more than just that to him. He actually found that he enjoyed her company and not just in their furs. 

That was why seeing her upset and distant from everyone as of late bothered him so much. Because he actually cared if she was happy or not. 

So after weeks of putting up with her moping, he had enough. This was not becoming of a Khaleesi of his.

  
It was midday and they  had been in Qohor for awhile at that point to stock up for their long journey through the Dothraki Sea. Sansa was in her tent, brushing her hair and dressed in a breathable lace slip, the hot weather permitting her to handle only the barest of clothes as of late. She was once again in deep thought, staring blankly into the looking glass she had purchased from a merchant in the city.  Her cheeks were red from the sun, and when it faded she would have a new constellation of freckles on her face that Drogo like to map after she had fallen asleep from their rigorous fucking.

Drogo threw back the opening of her tent and stepped inside. Sansa turned in her stool with a little jump, startled by the loud flap of the tent’s draped doors. She looked as him and let out a breath of relief, her hand slipping away from where it had gone to rest atop the knife on her small dressing table.

“My Lor---” he watched Sansa swallow the words. Drogo had heard her say the words before, but they meant nothing to him. He was no Westerosi man, no lord, no king, but a warrior and Khal of the Dothraki. Khal was the only title he had or needed of.    
Sansa cleared her throat and tried again. She wasn’t always sure how it was best to address him. Was it by his name, husband, or maybe Khal. One day she may call him her sun and stars. 

“Husband?” she said with a question. 

“What is wrong with you?” he said gruffly in her own language, her eyes going a bit wide with the surprise of hearing him speak it. He could see that it surprised and frightened her. 

“Excuse me?” she asked. He frowned, not sure what she just said. She realized this and changed to Dothraki.

  
“ **What do you mean?** ” she reworded herself. 

**“ What ever these messages you’ve received are, they have upset you and it’s making those around you aggravated .”** he waited for her to answer him.

“ **Have I been that obvious?”** Sansa sighed and slumped her shoulders.  **“I did not mean to make anyone uncomfortable or concerned.”**

Drogo could end it there, tell her to overcome what ever pointless thing that may have caused her attitude,  and leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he sat on a woven rug of grass and looked at her. 

**“What has you upset?”**

Sansa turned in her stool so she was facing him completely,  **“My messages were from my mother and brother, they are worried about me.”**

**“Why would they be worried? Did they not give you to me?”** He asked. He had assumed she was either orphaned or that at least her parents were aware that she was given to him.

**“No. They didn’t”** Sansa shook her head.  **“My captors sold me to you for your promise. I was a hostage.”**

Drogo did not know that last word.   
**“It’s like a slave that you take after a raid, or an opponent's woman after you’ve won a fight.”** she explained. 

  
Drogo felt himself angry. He was given some secondhand prize. Did they think he had no pride, that he would never find out. He wanted to be furious, but he was also satisfied with Sansa. He did not want to hurt her own pride either by voicing his offense. He knew his wife was just as proud as he was. 

Sansa explained further.

  
**“My father was a Lord, it’s something like a Khal. They watch over a designated territory and govern its people in the name of the King who is like the Khal of all Khals.”** he did his best to try and understand and follow along with her. 

“ **Before you, I was meant to marry the King.”** she told him, her eyes averted from him. 

  
He remembered that this King had asked him to promise not to allie with Viserys the Beggar King if he was happy with their offered woman. When the Magister had explained to him what and who this king was, he had been uncertain to meet Sansa if this man hadn’t wanted her for himself. But he was told that she was not the Kings but free to give away to who he saw fit, so Drogo had taken no insult from it.

**“I thought I loved him, but my father knew a terrible secret about the king and the king killed my father because of it.”** Sansa confessed.

**“He bested him in battle?”** he asked her, trying to imagine what type of warrior her father was. 

**  
** Sansa shook her head, eyes getting red and teary.  **“No, if it had been a battle my father would have won. He was a great man and a skilled warrior.”**

She smiled at the thought of her father knocking Joffrey upside the head, or just chopping it off completely with Ice.

**  
** **“He was taken prisoner and his head was cut off in front of me for treason. But it wasn’t, he was trying to be loyal to a dead friends legacy rather than see the incestuos bastard of his friends wife and her brother rule us all.”** Sansa said the words like they were venom on her tongue. Clearly she held a great hatred for them and he was about to learn why.

**“They’re evil, twisted people.  They kept me from my family, they hurt me and mocked me,  stole my dignity from me!”** she shouted, the hair she had just brushed floating and whipping around her as she raged, turning her face sharply so that he could not see her expression.    
She felt ashamed of herself for still reacting this way, for letting her husband see this side of her.

“ **My brother is fighting a war against them, he and my mother. I was sent to you without their knowledge. I sent them a message the night before we wed. The first contact I’ve had with them since before my father's murder.”** she explained she had not been allowed to write to them, at all. She had to hear about them from gossip and rumors. 

**“Than why are you not happy, has your brother face shame in battle?”** he asked her, wondering why she was in a foul mood. 

**“No, he is a great fighter, he has not lost yet. It’s not him, it’s my mother.”** he frowned and she came to him, getting on her knees and sitting back on her legs in front of him, her hands on her thighs and her eyes down cast. Whatever it was she was frightened or possible ashamed to tell him.

He took her chin and raised it so she looked at him.   
“ **Tell me.”**

**“My mother is worried about me is all, I don’t like her so worried.”** she told him, and clearly she had great love for her mother.  **“She never imagined I would be married to a man like you, but please don’t be insulted, things are just different where I am from.”** she told him, but he felt she was oversimplifying it. There was more than just that she wasn’t telling him. 

“Are you unhappy?” he asked, the language still strange to his mouth.

  
She smiled at him, her face a soft, kind expression. “No, I am not unhappy.”

He was glad to hear that and gave her one of his rare smiles and kissed her. He pulled her onto his lap and she laughed, throwing her head back as her beard tickled her neck and collar. It was a beautiful sound, the best was when she laughed while he was inside her. Their was nothing comparable to the sensation.

All felt well again afterward, his wife once more walked around the camp, her servant girls all returned to her side again, the women happier for it to be in her fold. But Drogo thought much since his wife told her of her brother and mother.

  
He felt angry for what had been done to Sansa, her pain and humiliation now his own as her husband. The knowledge of an unsettled debt bothered him. Those who hurt his should be hurt in return. He sat by the pits, staring at the fire that reminded him of his wife's hair and wondered. Had she really been treated so cruelly, his wife seemed unbroken and had her maidenhead when he had first had her. Than again, the scars on her legs spoke another story. He had never asked about them, but now he wondered how she had gotten them. 

There were so many little things about her that were falling into place to tell a larger, darker story. His wife was the woman she was was, tough and ballsy because she had faced great trials before she had come to him. 

Drogo was learning more about his wife than he ever expected or ever intended to know. She seemed to talk to him more after that, even if she wasn’t sure if he was actually paying attention or not.

  
She had two younger brothers and a sister. Sansa said Arya would have liked him, or maybe not. But she thought Drogo would like her for sure, she was wild and beastly and somehow she could see her husband having some fun with Arya about it.  She would love to ride all day long and run around in the dirt or fight if she could. 

  
“Dead?” Drogo asked her. The way Sansa talked about her it made him feel like that was so.

  
“I don’t think so, but I also don’t know for sure.” Sansa told him and leaned against him as they sat one night by the pits.

Sansa even told him more of her father.

  
“I don’t think he would have liked you at all!” she had laughed loudly one morning.

“You are nothing at all like the man he promised me I might marry. You are no knight, or lord, not good or respectful at all.” Drogo started to wonder if she was meaning to insult him. But then she crawled her way to him, shrugging off her slip and sliding right out of it. 

“But you are strong and brave.” she kissed him and pulled back, climbing up her body, hands everywhere. 

“I might not have a castle but I have a Khalasar and you provide for me if not with land or coin, but other ways.” her hand stroked the length of his already rigid cock. 

“I’m never hungry or thirsty and you don’t mistreat me.” she bit his shoulder, grinning as he stiffened and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back.

  
“Most of all, I’m not scared anyone could hurt me when I’m with you. I’m Khaleesi!”

“You are Khaleesi.” he agreed and dove for her mouth. His hands fondled and pinched at her breasts and hips, his own pelvis gyrating between her thighs his cock finding its way to where it belonged; inside of her.

He loved the way Sansa looked when he took her, the way she tried to keep composed before losing herself in her own pleasure. Their sweat slicked bodies slapped against one another as Sansa pushed up into him, lip between her teeth to keep in her grunts and moans while trying to get him at just the right angle. He made sure she soon found herself screaming, lifting her and pounding up into her, her shoulders back and one hand on his knee or thigh while she touched herself, her breasts bouncing beautifully in front of him. They were so tempting he found himself ducking his head forward and biting at one.

Sansa gasped and moaned, dropping herself harder down on his shaft until her was hilt deep inside of her and she kept still, body spasming as her finger twitched on that wonderful pink bud between her folds. As she was still in the tremors of her orgasm he grabbed eased her down on her her back, grabbed her hips and with the extra slick that now coated his cock thrusted wildly to his own completion and his seed poured into her.

As she panted, trying to catch her breath, Drogo laid the flat of his hand above her sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about this ending, pretty smutty right? Sorry about that, I got a little carried away. I always feel like Sansa would be a total deviant in bed a bit. Like she's the perfect lady during the day, and then in the bedroom on rare nights she likes to give some of that control up with someone she really trusts and just be completely selfish of her own pleasure and maybe just kinda takes it. All consensual of course.


	14. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last words of the last chapter, kinda of gave a hint as to the focus of this chapter.   
> No sex in this one though.  
> Which by the way, would you like more sex scenes or less? I am trying to practice writing more smut and sex in general in my life because I feel I'm not the great at it yet and sex to me is such a human and natural thing and also a big part of the GOT series in general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, another chapter so soon?  
> Thank my job and our slow season!  
>  I am fortunate enough to have a job that when I am not taking calls and putting together vacation packages that I could never afford myself, I have the capability to work on these personal projects in between my actual job functions.

Another Lannister soldier had died. 

He has annoyed one of the Khals Bloodriders until Cohollo’s patience has snapped, his arakh cleanly slashing through a quarter of the man's neck cleanly, right below the space of his helmet and armor. His head had lolled back, held on at the spine, flopping around until the weight snapped the bone and his head fell in the dirt. 

The dogs Sansa had come to keep, trained grass dogs bought from a man in Qohor, bit at the feet and wrists.  They were no direwolves, just a tad bigger than Lady’s size when she died.  And they were quick and just as deadly if they got their teeth around someone throat, with black and tan blotched furr. They were a comfort to Sansa, guarding her and keeping her and her ladies company trained to attack on command or if they felt their master threatened. Sansa had a pack of five.

No one felt any great loss by the mans death, not even the men that remained who had come with him.  He had been warned numerous times not to antagonize any of the men and leave the women alone, he was stupid and cocky and he lost his head for it. 

At least she wouldn’t have to worry about feeding her dogs, Sansa thought at the metal of his armor was stripped of his body, his nude corpse thrown far from camp in the grass for scavengers, her dogs getting their fill first. 

As much as she understood the circle of life and ways of nature, it did curl her stomach a bit having her dogs eat human flesh rather than some other animal. She had been feeling sick rather a lot lately, she assumed it was from eating nothing but horse meat over and over. Her stomach was craving the variety she once knew. The produce of Qohor was a great relief, and Sansa tried to stock up on as much vegetables, fruits and poultry as possible for herself. 

Sansa put a hand over her mouth and left her dogs to their meal, walking away from the growls and smacking sounds of their jaws as they ripped flesh from bone. She had watched long enough, and she could not deny them such a meal though when she did not know what hunt they would find in the Dothraki desert that wasn’t the scraps from her own plate. At least her Hawk could fill it’s own belly with more common prey such as small rodents and even large bugs. She was very handy for keeping the more irritating of the insects from her tent. Her pets had more than one use.

Sansa retreated to her tent and the shade it provided. She discarded her shawl from her shoulders as she entered and laid down over some pillows, stretching her limbs out over the nesting. She felt so sticky and tired. Irri, without a word began to fan her and she thanked the woman kindly for the relief of a breeze. She missed the cold of Winterfell.

Sansa’s thoughts wandered to her mother and her letter. She had not lied to her husband when she told him her mother was worried and unhappy with her marriage. What she did not tell him was that her mother had promised to try and send men to come and get her as soon as possible and before than told Sansa to try and avoid becoming pregnant.

She was afraid it was too late for that though. 

Sansa was late.

Her moonblood had not come. She had a small leather bound book that helped her keep track of her cycle, a gift from Cersei when she had her first bleeding. She said it was wise to have for conception, the maester marking the place when she would be at her most opportune to conceive. 

Shae had told her just because she hadn’t bled that month yet, didn’t mean she was pregnant. A woman could be late for a number for reasons, she had seen plenty of false scares in whore houses where a woman had not bled as she was scheduled. Sometimes it could be caused from sex, or stress or even from riding her horse so much.

She told Sansa these things because she knew the girl was scared and torn between her mother's advice and what she was meant to do as a wife even if her mother may not see her marriage as a valid one. 

She wrote back to both her mother and brothers, trying to give some comfort to them in letting them no she was not distressed, that her life was good if not what any of them expected it to be. She understood the importance of the war still waging so far from her and her brother and mother had other things to concentrate on. She was safe and happy, they should not bother themselves with her too much as long as they just kept writing to her when they could.

She was becoming very attached to Drogo and she wanted to make him happy. But though she was not miserable with him and was perfectly content and safe, she couldn’t lie to herself and say that the thought of going home didn’t fill her with hope and longing.

Sansa laid her hands across her belly. It was soft and flat. 

Could there really be a baby inside her? 

Her mother had fallen pregnant with Robb right away after her marriage to her father. Sansa knew she should be happy and excited for the possibility of being with a babe so soon. It had not been even close to a year yet since she had been married to Drogo and already there might be a baby inside her. 

But what if it was a girl? Would Drogo discard her after just one failure? What happened to the daughters? Would he just throw her away, give her to some slave to have and make her try again? Or would he run to Daenerys to see if she could give him a son if she couldn’t the first time? 

She didn’t want to think Drogo was like that, but she was still so new to this life and she was scared to confide to Irri and Jhiqui if they went and told Drogo when she herself wasn’t even sure. The stupid little girl inside her heart wanted to have faith that Drogo would continue to care and protect her and their child no matter it’s sex. She still held on to some hope of romance and loyalty.

  
There were so many terrifying thoughts that came with the idea of being with child. It was her first, and she had heard the first was always the roughest and most dangerous for both mother and child. They didn’t have a proper maester with them, and Shae had confessed she had never gone through the labors of childbearing herself, her only experience being a bystander to the whores who had. That wasn’t exactly uplifting or encouraging of Shae’s coaching abilities on the matter. 

  
Sansa worried. They would be leaving in two days time and the journey was a long and foreign one to her. She did take some support in knowing that Drogo would be by her side.

Sansa had been spending her days helping the woman prepare for the departure and journey ahead trying to keep her mind off of any possible pregnancy. She also didn’t want to garner any of Drogo’s suspicion or worry again, so she tried to act as natural as possible, making sure she went about her day normally. After a long day of making her rounds around the camp, Sansa was tired.

She turned onto her side, facing Irri’s gentle fanning. The woman hummed a song Sansa didn’t know while Jhiqui braided the upside of Sansa’s hair in small, tight braids against the side of her head above her ear, her touch never harsh or painful. Shae was at her feet, taking off her sandals and gently washing over the blisters that had started to form. 

She was well taken care of, and gave soft little sighs as she felt herself start to drift off to an evening nap before the night's feast.    
Or she would have if not for the commotion that was suddenly occurring outside her tent.  

  
Opening her eyes she could see the shadow of Dothraki warriors taking post outside the entrance of her tent. She sat up on her arms, frowning. 

What was happening? 

Irri stopped her fanning, putting the paper paddle down and shared a look with Jhiqui before she stood and went to the curtains of the tent, pulling it back just enough for her to stick her head out. Shae stood and moved in front of Sansa, her thin skirt hiked up by her wrist, hand on the knife strapped to her thigh. 

Irri, in Dothraki, asked the men what was happening.

“Two foreign men have approached camp, they are asking for Khaleesi.” Irri came back and told them. 

Sansa’s eyes widened and she jumped from her place, sprinting to her trunk and throwing it open. She took the letters from atop her father's sword and opened her mother's. She searched it for information. Her mother said she would try to send people for her, but she had not expected she would be able to do so immediately. The letter held no clues to who these men were. Surely her mother would have told her in the letter who she was sending.  

“Irri, have a man bring one of the steel clad men to my tent. And make sure they have no access to any ravens or birds.” Sansa ordered. If these were her mothers men, she couldn’t have Cersei’s spies sending any messages. 

  
Authority resonated with Sansa, her eyes stiles, fierce and taking control. Irri, though concerned, did not question her Khaleesi and did her bidding.

Cohollo himself brought the man to her, she had him brought to his knees quickly enough, Cohollo’s arakh pressed to the side of his neck ready to take another man's head as his Khaleesi’s order. She recognized the man, he was one of the more reserved of the lot sent with her, keeping his distance and minding his place like he should.

“What messages have you been sending to Cersei?” her voice was calm and composed, her hand clasped in front of her like the lady she was raised as. “Why has she sent more men?”

  
She reminded herself he was nothing here, nothing to her. The Khalasar was her kingdom, and she was the only queen to be rightly recognized among it. 

“Would you please look at me, Ser Kylle?” She asked softly noticing his anxious glances at everywhere but her.

  
He swallowed and did so.

  
“Thank you. Now, what do you know?” she asked, sweet and docile but he saw an icy rage behind her blue eyes. 

He kept quiet. Sansa sighed.

“I suppose you think I want to kill you, hurt you?” she asked him. Her face stoic.

“Maybe a bit,” she admitted. “Those who have died were cruel and disrespectful to me. I have endured hell, and finally I am free only for my peace and happiness to be mocked by your presence.” 

“You though, you don’t seem as terrible as the rest of them, Ser Kylle, so can’t we be civil and tell me what I want to know so that I don’t have to cut your head off?” she raised her fine, red brows at him.

“We haven’t heard from the Queen in a month, not since Joffrey’s betrothal to Margaery Tyrell. The Queen said nothing of sending more soldiers. I haven’t even seen these new men to tell you if I know them or not.” he told her, watching as her face took on angry, sharp angles as she glared at him. She was frustrated that she didn’t know anything about this. She hadn’t received word back from her mother yet either.

“They lost too many in the Battle of Blackwater, and even before that they knew Stannis was coming so I can’t think she would risk sending any here.” 

Sansa saw the sincere cluelessness in his eyes. She let his face go, nails having grown long scratching as his cheek in warning.

“Battle of Blackwater?” she repeated more to herself than for him to answer. But he did.

“Yes, my lady,” she stopped him.

“No, not my lady, I am Khaleesi now.” she smirked down at him.

He swallowed and nodded his head quickly, hissing as the movement made the blade cut into his neck. Sansa motioned for Chalo to pull his blade away for now.

  
He did so, but kept it out and ready.

“Khaleesi.” he tested it on his tongue. “The fight against Stannis, that’s what they call it now. We already knew he was planning an attack, he came with his ships through the blackwater so that’s what they been calling it after it happened. Lord Tywin and Mace Tyrell road to the  offense and beat them back. They used Fiendfyre to burn the ships, the bay was alight with green flames.”

“And what of Lord Tyrion?” she asked.

“There was never any mention of him in the messages. I’m not even sure it’s the Queen direct hand that writes the ravens that come to us.” Sansa believed that. They were most likely filtered, the Queen having bigger concerns such as trying to keep her place in the hierarchy of the kingdom. 

It made Sansa curious about Margaery Tyrell. The poor girl had no idea what she was in for. A delicate rose in a house of lions that can cut her down with single swipe of a claw.

“So you truly don’t know who these men are that are asking after me?” her expression didn’t change. 

“No my l---” he stopped and corrected himself. “ I mean, no, Khaleesi.”

“Well, then I best go find out what they want with me if you don’t know.” she smiled and told Cohollo to let him go. 

“Have him watched, as well as the others. I don’t want them wandering around while I deal with our guests.” Sansa smiled and Irri translated before going after her.

  
“Jhiqui, go bring back the dogs.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought this was a pretty cool line to end it at?   
> Who could it be?  
> Also!!!!!  
> THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR YOUR REVIEWS!!!! YOU GUYS ARE SO GREAT!!!


	15. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa confronts her unexpected guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when you picture Sansa's dogs imagine a hyena mixed with an African wild dog.

As she exited her tent Sansa set her shoulders back, her face determined in the face of the disapproval she was met with. There were still a great many in the Khalasar that did not see her as their Khaleesi. She was just a white skinned whore dressed pretty and given to the Khal. And now she had brought trouble to them with all these foreign men. A few didn’t like Sansa ordering them about, having no respect for her. But Sansa did not let the deter her, she was there Khaleesi and she would show that she would not take the few protests against her keep her from the Khals side. Shae saw Sansa’s problem was that no matter where she was, she still felt entitled. That was perhaps a part of her character that would never be lost.

Still, Sansa handled herself well, already familiar with disapproval from her time at court after her father’s death. She was unwanted and shunned, even abandoned by the ladies that had once stuck to her side when she entered court. Like a diamond, each hissing rumor, each sharp judging eye, it cut a facet in her surface until the shine and glinting jewel underneath was exposed. 

With her hair wild and frizzy, and wearing nothing but a leather slip gown that showed her legs with her dogs flanking her, Sansa was an incredibly  intimidating picture.  And she felt it. Confident, strong and beautiful she felt like nothing could touch her. 

And then she caught sight of the golden hair. Sansa’s face crumbled, horror set in and when curious green eyes landed on her she nearly stopped in her tracks.    
It was Jaime Lannister.

Sansa paused. Her heart hammered in her chest with fear.

Has he escaped her brother, heard of her whereabouts and thought to take revenge my killing her? Was he so filled with the desire for revenge that he would have crossed the sea to get to her rather than just return home to his sister lover and family. Something felt off about it all, but Sansa was not about to let her guard down. Jaime Lannister was a dangerous man, and she wondered how many of the Dothraki warriors he could take down before he got to her if that was his goal. 

  
“Is that her?” the other, blond man with him asked Jaime. 

When Sansa heard the voice she realized it was not a man at all, but a woman. Her hair was cut short like a man’s, she was nearly as tall as her husband and wore armor. The woman stood firm in front of the Dothraki, hand on the pommel of her sword.

“She looks just like Lady Catelyn,” at the mention of her mother Sansa found her pace again and continued to the group. They were standing outside Drogo’s tent, who most likely refused to see them. 

“Ser Jaime, I see you have escaped my brothers hospitality.” Sansa came up, asking the men to let her through. Her dogs came to the forefront, her first line of defense. They growled and snapped their jaws at Jaime and his companion, neither one flinching, but she could see something in Jaime’s eyes. She assumed he has become quite acquainted with her brothers direwolf during his stay with his camp.

“Lady Sansa, my have you grown. You look lovely.” he gave her his signature, charming smile. “The Essos air and sun have done you wonders, it seems.”

“Is that so? Than I must thank your sisters for sending me to my husband.” she smiled condescendingly. “I’ll send her a nice letter with your head.”

Arakhs were at both of their their necks, a tight ring around in which the smallest movement may bring one cutting into flesh. 

Jaime glanced at the men and their blades, his grin not wavering.

  
“We didn’t come here for a fight, Lady Sansa. I am not here to hurt you.” he promised.

“Oh, but I want to hurt you.” she told him, and one of her dogs stuck low when she gave a sharp whistle, strong jaws clamping down Jaime’s calf. He gave a cry but didn’t buckle, otherwise his neck would be cut open my the blades at it. Or at the very least give him a very close shave.

The woman with him drew her sword, but quickly had her hand stilling as blood was drawn from her neck, a warning.

“My Lady--” the woman tried to speak, but Sansa would not hear it.

  
“Do you think I wouldn’t know what you did?” she asked Jaime, who wreathed standing as her dog bit down and jerked at his leg.

“You pushed my little brother off that tower, didn’t you?” she asked. 

  
He gave a hiss of pain and than said. “Yes.”

“I have no need of you here, killing you would lose me nothing.” she told him.

“You hurt my little brother with the intention of killing him, and when that failed your sister tried to have an assassin finish what you started.” she reminded him, jaw set tight.

  
She was furious to have this man in front of her, to have him dare meet her eyes after all he had done to her family. She wanted to gouge his eyes out. They were the same beautiful emerald as his sister who has glared at her with constant disdain and annoyance, of his sons lusty, hateful and cruel gaze. They mocked her with every blink.

“Have you no retort, no last plea for your life?” she asked him. Her fingers grabbed some of the fur at another of her dog's neck, and it snarled with the rest, the threat of sicking another one of her pets on them.

“My lady, if you would,” Sansa looked from Jaime to the woman he was with. “I am Brienne of Tarth, we’ve come at the orders of your mother. I have a letter, if you would only let me---”

  
Brienne glanced down at the small pouch at her waist.

“My mother sent you?” Sansa asked skeptically. “She did not mention either of your names or description in her letter.”

**“Put your arakhs down from her.”** Sansa told them, and hesitantly they did.

“Let me see the letter.” she held out her hand for the parchment. The wax seal was the same direwolf that was on the last, the wax the same color.   
She broke the wax with a slide of her finger and unfolded the letter.

_ Sansa, _

_ I write this letter with great haste, I do not have much time. Brienne must hurry in her escape with Jaime Lannister, less they be caught. _ _   
_ _ Robb can not spare any men to get you, and I can not bare the thought of leaving you be for so long. It may very well take another year or more until this war is over.  _

_   
_ _ I understand you will have done your duty and went to bed with your husband, but if you are to marry a Northern Lord you can not have a bastard at your breast. I also realize how foolish my advise to you was now. Surely you have no means at hand to help you prevent his seed taking, and I dare not have your safety risked by telling you to deny your Dothraki husband his right.  Hopefully you will not be as quick to find yourself with child as I was.  _

_ Brienne has sworn herself to me and I trust her with my life and now I do so with yours. Take her into your service, and she shall serve and protect you as she has me and bring you back home to where you belong.  _

_ Though she is loyal and strong, she is but one person so I have taken released the Kingslayer into her custody. Your brothers men would have killed him soon enough, I thought he might be of some last use to us if he could assist Brienne in your rescue.  _

_ If he is still with Brienne when you read this, then perhaps he has some honor after all, but do not take him into your confidence. He is still our enemy and when you are returned to us he will return to his own as I have promised him. _

_ Be safe my love,  _

_   
_ _ I hope to see you soon. _

_ Your mother,  _

_ Catelyn Stark _

Sansa read the letter thrice before letting out a sigh. 

  
Things were becoming complicated.

“Let him go.” she told the dogs with a resigned tone. She clucked her tongue and the dog released and returned to her side. 

**“Tie him up.”** she gave orders to some of the men, one quickly appearing with robe in hand.

  
Jaime sighed. “Again?”

Sansa didn’t answer him and watching him taken away. She would find him later.

  
“My lady, I understand your reasons, but I ask that at this time you show Ser Jaime some mercy.” Sansa raised her brows at the request.

“For now, nothing will be done to him.” she told Brienne.

  
“Brienne was is?” Sansa asked, glancing back down at the letter.

“Yes, My Lady.” Sansa gave an acknowledging nod of her chin. 

“You understand that it’s not that simple to just go with you?” she asked the woman.    
Brienne nodded. 

Sansa felt so very frustrated. She figured this would be much simpler when she came out to deal with their mystery guests. “This puts me in a very difficult position, you showing up here without warning.”

She elaborated. If she could have at least received some foreword by letter, she wouldn’t have to explain what was going on to Drogo. How was she to tell him that her mother had sent these two to take her away from him? How would he react? Would he kill them, forbid anymore communication to her family?

Had she not already been feeling enough stress on the matter of her possible pregnancy that the gods thought to through in her path another disruption to what had been becoming a peaceful lifestyle. 

“I do apologize my lady, I had wished to send you a raven and have you meet with us privately perhaps in a tavern in the city.”   
“And why didn’t you?” she asked, curious and running out of patience.

“Ser Jaime, my Lady, her prefers a more straightforward approach to things.” she admitted. “He’s rather stubborn.”

  
“And you could not stop him?” she clenched her fists, and one of her dogs licked it. She smiled a bit and relaxed. 

  
“Possibly, but I feel we are rather even matched.” that peaked Sansa’s curiosity. 

She looked Brienne over again. 

  
“My sister would like you very much.” 

  
Brienne smiled. “Your mother said the same thing.”

Sansa turned to Shae. “have her brought to my tent, give her wine and some food. I will be there shortly.” 

Shae nodded and the men stepped back from the giant woman. She looked at them and told them she would speak to The Khal. She could not put this conversation off. It needed to be dealt with right away or Sansa feared there would be a great misunderstanding of events if someone spoke to him first. She was sure someone was in his tent already, whispering in his ear what was happening. 

Sansa took a moment to compose herself, to quickly think carefully of what she was going to say to Drogo before finally entering the tent. Irri stayed with her and her dogs stayed outside. Drogo had not been thrilled with her purchase, but told her it was fine to have them as long as they didn’t terrorize the horses. Though she had caught him throwing a stick for them on more than one occasion. 

**“Moon of my life, how do you know these men?”** He asked her upon her entrance, and Sansa’s heart soared with the endearment. 

  
Mago glared at her from Drogo’s side. He was her least favorite of the riders.

  
**“My sun and stars,”** Sansa began, walking directly to him without pause. 

She glanced at Mago and smiled politely.

  
**“Leave us.”** he bristled, but a quick affirmative nod by Drogo kept his tongue from moving and he left.

Drogo hooked an arm around her and pulled her to his leg, having he sit on his thigh.

  
**“Why are these people here?”** he asked her, his hold gentle but his voice and eyes leaving no room to escape the conversation.

**“They have come for me. My mother wants me to return home.”** she explained in a simple manner. 

“She sent them to be my escorts.” Sansa had to switch over, trying to think of the words to describe Brienne and Jaime’s purpose. 

More importantly she needed him to know she was innocent of any plot to leave him. She felt panic grip her insides, remembering Joffrey.

  
“I did not know, she did not mention that they were coming.” he seemed to sense her distress, and touched her chin rising he face to meet his eyes. 

“You Khaleesi, you belong here.” he told  her, and she loved how he tried to use the common tongue more often as of late for her.

  
“Yes, I do.” she said, her heart swelling with pride and devotion. She realized, perhaps she was falling in love with her husband.

She had come so far in so many different ways. She did not have a lavish lifestyle, nor was her husband a gallant knight or lord, but she found that she liked him better because he wasn’t those things. 

“I will make that clear to them. They have come in vain.” she pressed her forehead to his, and she watched as he closed his eyes, his hand a little firmer at her waist. 

“They are no threat to us. They will be on their way before we move again.” she promised him.

“Are you angry that they are here.” she asked, finding her husband hard to read sometimes.

  
“No.” he said, brushing his nose against hers.

  
Sansa considered telling him, about them possibly having a baby,  but she decided against it to wait until she was certain. She left Drogo feeling more confident with herself and their relationship. She felt silly for being so terrified about having Drogo’s baby. He would not toss her aside so easily, he wanted her, cared about her and certainly that would not suddenly cease if she bore a daughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Dany doesn't show up in the next chapter than I promise she's going to be in the one after that. And it won't be rushed, or pressured. She was originally going to be in this one, but I switched things up a bit from what I had first started writing because I liked this better and felt the pace of the story and meetings flowed better. Guess we'll find out in the next few chapters if I was right.


	16. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a sit down with Brienne.

Sansa knew she may very well come to regret her choice to stay. She might have some chance of disappearing in the night with Brienne and Jaime if she really wanted that. A part of her did. Of course it did. Why wouldn’t she want to go home, to be back with her mother and brother? If she went back and married a Northerner she would never be far from them again. But she was a woman grown and her mother and millions of women for hundreds of years had left their families and homes to settle far away from all that they knew with their husband. 

Why was her circumstance so different. What made her better than those women to have the right to run away from her duty and back to her mother and brother? She understood her mother's fear, but her mother raised her better than to forgo her duties and honor. Strictly engraving into her heart the Tully house words of ‘Family, duty and honor’. Drogo was her family now, as was his riders. His honor was hers, her duty was to him as much if not more as it was to her brothers and mother. 

Sansa would love to one day go back home, but for the time being she would stay planted in Essos at her husband's side for how many years to come. She would be content with her mother's letters until peace came again and it was safe to find away to see her family one more. 

Surely her mother would, if she explained it clearly, see that if would be best for Sansa to continue as she was.  She was safe in Essos, and if Robb fell could she really not trust her Umber or Karstark husband not to forgo her, to give her back to the Lannisters or perhaps she would simply be taken back by force if her husband did try to protect her.

  
She may not have bore a child yet, but she was a used woman and the bride and wife of a savage man not of Westeros. Even if she did go back, no one would see her the way they once done. She may have kept her maidenhead intact, but between the Lannister's and her marriage to Drogo, she was a ruined in the eyes of the highborn. At least if she had married a Magister, a prince or some higher ranking city man it might not be so bad. But she had married a man no better than a Wildling. Sansa understood perfectly well how people felt about those sort of people, because not long ago she would have felt the same. She would have regarded the Dothraki with the same revolution and disdain as she had with talk about Wildling's. 

She would have to do or marry someone incredible to ever have the same respect in Westeros she once had as a young, highborn girl before she went to King's Landing. Sadly her family seemed short of connections to such things. 

Her heart constricted to imagine what her mother had gone through to be able to send Brienne and Jaime to her. Not even Sansa could imagine Robb would so easily look over their mother's betrayal and releasing the Kingslayer could only be seen as just that. She wished her mother was home with Bran and Rickon, that the three of them safe in their home where they could not be touched.

Perhaps Robb could have just sent their mother back home, where she belonged in the first place. But that wasn’t even an option with Theon’s salty hands holding the reigns of Winterfell. 

  
If he hurt her brothers, if he touched was sweet, feather hair on either of Bran and Rickon's heads, she would find a way to get Winterfell back herself and cut his head from his shoulders with ICE.

Rickon was such a sweet thing. Oh how she loved him. He was always running about, getting dirty but he had loved to have her tuck him in at night and sing him a song or play the harp. He would be at her skirts as much as he was at their mothers. Some days she would spend her time in the glass garden with him, telling him the name of all the flowers and letting him put them in her hair.

Then their was Rickon. He didn’t like her stories, her preferred the scary ones Old Nan knew. But sometimes, when he climbed up the high walls and empty towers, he would bring her the weeds that looked like flowers he found growing in the cracks. He was a sweet, adventurous boy who tried just as hard as Sansa to be a good little Lord. But Rickon wanted to be a knight and Sansa had adored him for his dream. Sometimes, though he didn’t like her romantic tales, he liked the sound of her voice and would bring her books about real knights in the past and ask her to read to him. 

If anything happened to Robb, the future of their house would be on Bran’s shoulders as the next oldest male until Robb’s son came of age. That is if he was fortunate enough to have his Frey wife bare him one.

Sansa touched a hand to her belly. Thinking about her brothers made her think of what her own possible son.

“Are you ill Khaleesi?” Irri asked concerned by the face she had been making and the way she had touched her abdomen.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Irri, thank you.” she smiled at the girl. 

  
Irri didn’t look convinced. 

  
“I promise. I think all this excitement has turned my stomach a bit is all. I’ll be fine.” 

  
“I bring you some herbs. I’ll make you tea to settle your belly.” said Irri as they got back to Sansa’s tent. Some riders were outside, guarding and keeping watch on Brienne inside. Once Sansa was inside, and Irri felt comfortable leaving her mistress, she left to get the herbs and water for Sansa’s tea.

“Are you comfortable, Lady Tarth?” Sansa enquired politely, taking note of Brienne’s large figure sitting on one of the small stools Sansa had in her tent. 

“I’m afraid we don’t use many proper chairs in the Khalasar.” Sansa apologized.

“It’s quite alright, my lady.” Brienne said stiff, but politely. Sansa could tell in the way she held herself some about the women. “And please just Brienne would be fine.”

  
“Are you not Brienne Tarth, daughter of Selwyn Tarth of House Tarth, Lord of Evenfall?” Sansa asked. It was customary to for highborn girls and boy to learn at an early age all of the houses, their members and their histories.

“Yes, My lady.” Brienne nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable.

  
“Than you are just as much a highborn lady as I, armor or not.” Sansa smiled teasingly at Brienne.

The other woman thought she might be being made fun of for a moment, but their was no mockery in Sansa’s eyes. She reminded her a bit or Queen Margaery, gracious and beautiful with a sophisticated and kind character. Everything Brienne herself was not. 

Brienne has liked Margaery up until she heard the girl and her family had run to the aid of Renly’s enemies, the Lannisters. Now she would be Queen again, but this time her king would be Joffrey.

“Would you like some wine or bread?” Sansa offered, ever the polite and courteous highborn girl. 

  
Brienne also raised as a highborn girl, was aware of customs and proper politeness and accepted. She had a slice of bread and a little wine to wash it down, but that was all, just enough not to be rude.

“How did you come into my mother service, Lady Brienne?” truthfully Sansa was very curious and she listened intently as Brienne told her story, about entering into Renly’s Kingsguard, meeting her mother and than Renly’s death.

“I’m sorry for your loss, my lady.” the girl had not been very familiar with Renly during her father's time as Hand of the King. But she had liked the idea of him.

  
“Lord Renly  had tried to help my father, for that I will always be grateful.”  Sansa admitted. 

“King.” Sansa looked at Brienne, took in the line of her mouth, the slant of her eyes as she corrected her.

“I apologize, King Renly.”

Personally, though Sansa may have gotten along better with Renly if she had the oppurtunity, her father had been correct in saying that Stannis had a greater right to the throne being the next eldest than Renly. Stannis may have been strict, but what she knew of him reminded her of her father. Perhaps the man was cold and callous, but he was experienced where Renly was not. Perhaps it seemed like an extravagant, glorious game to Renly but lives were lost and destroyed in war.  He would have been the far superior of the two.

At least that was what she would have first thought. But this talk of his Red Woman and dark magic left Sansa was questioning if that still would be so. Though it may not even be a concern anymore. Stannis had retreated,beaten back as his ships burned in the wildfire. Ser Kylle had not told he had died, just that the Joffrey’s side had one. She imagined Joffrey had been with his mother the entire time, she couldn’t imagine that coward leading an army. Pity he hadn't’t. He might have been killed if he had. 

“Lady Tarth, though I appreciate my mother's sentiment in sending you, I will not be going back with you.” Sansa watched Brienne’s reaction carefully. “I can’t.” 

“My lady, I hope you don’t think there is no way. Surely if we bide our time, we can find a opportune moment and---”

  
“You misunderstand me.” she shook her head, her red hair a frizzy, beautiful maine around her face. “I don’t want to go back.”

  
“My lady, I don’t understand?” Brienne seemed lost by what Sansa was saying.

“I’m sure my mother believe my marriage has put me in great distress, but in fact it is the very opposite. Even I’m surprised.”  her smile was big and alight with humor and joy. 

“But it’s the truth, I explained this in my reply to her last letter.” she told her and looked into the dwindling fire of her coal pit. 

“I admit I did not want this life for myself, I was forced into this marriage with the threat of death if I did not manage to procure Khal Drogo’s interest. I was terrified of what was going to happen to me, if he would be cruel and terrible. But he’s not, at least not with me.” she had been intent on making the best of her life, but she had not expected it to go so well, to be this happy.

“It is tempting, to just let myself be whisked away back to my mother and brother. I used to pray everyday for that when I was in King's Landing before I was sent here.” 

Brienne looked at Sansa, really looked at her. There was glow to her skin, kissed by the Essos sun on a daily. She was not how she first imagined she would be. She had expected a more reserved, terrified girl. It stead she found a proud and comfortable young woman that was unharmed. Looking at her now, she reminded Brienne of Catelyn even more. The way she sat, the way she spoke, the distance that was sometimes in her eyes that told her she was thinking of something or someone. She was courtesies and as perfect a lady as her mother. 

“What changed?”

  
Sansa thought for a moment.

  
“I’m not sure. My life is far from ideal, but I’m comfortable. I am the wife of these peoples leader, the Khaleesi, I have respect, power and protection and that I think I always wanted. I have it now and----”

  
“And I’m with child.” Sansa beamed, her face alight with joy and relief.  It felt good to say the words out loud, to accept the reality that this was going to happen. She was going to be a mother.

  
“It’s still very early though. I’ve only told my friend Shae and now you. You must not let a soul know I told you.  I want to be sure before anyone else knows and I don’t have a maester here.”

“Of course, and may I say congratulations, Lady Sansa.” Brienne gave her regards on the matter.

  
“So you understand, this is where I belong.” Sansa said just as Irri returned with her tea, and she shared a look with Brienne who gave a nod. There would be no more talk of her pregnancy.

  
“Then this is where I will stay, with you. I promised your mother, swore an oath to her, I would protect you and I can’t do that if I go back. So until the day you wish to return, I will be you at your side.” Brienne stood from her stool and took a knee in front of Sansa, prostrating and swearing her fealty to the young woman.  

Sansa was speechless at first and considered arguing with Brienne, telling her to go back, but she when she saw the look in her blue eyes she realized it would do her no good. So she sighed and smiled, accepting Brienne into her service. 

  
“Now, the only matter left to deal with is what to do with Ser Jaime.” Sansa reclined and took a drink of her team.

  
“I don’t know exactly what your relationship is, but I know you are aware of the crimes he has committed. I can’t just let him go free.”

  
“Will you kill him?” Brienne thought perhaps she was testing her loyalty by having this discussion with her. 

  
That was not her intent, it was more to learn more about Brienne’s character.

“What do you think I should do with him?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter I swear we get to meet Dany. She's closer than you think and with her comes Visery's.  
> And what's going to happen to Jaime? Will Sansa have the heart to swing the blade and end his life for his crimes? Or does he have a bigger part in all this that needs him alive? We'll find out next chapter.


	17. 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally happening, their finally meeting!

After Sansa had spoken to Brienne, she had Irri find accommodations for the knight. 

  
Sansa had decided to make Ser Jaime wait a bit longer before she saw him, a few slaves having already come to her to say he was requesting to speak with her. As he was made to wait, Sansa had a bath and her meal. When she was redressed in a longer, more proper dress and her hair had been pulled, and twisted back from her face and neck, she went to see Jaime. 

  
The pits were being lit, night just a few brief moments away as the sun was but a thin line of light on the horizon, the stars already glittering above their heads. The men were gorging themselves on horse meat and jams, any bones were thrown into a woven basket for treats for her dogs. Her pets were close to her side as she made her way through the camp, flanking her with Sansa as the leader.

Jaime was tied to a post, two riders trading barbs over him. When they saw her they straightened giving her the respectful greeting of, “Khaleesi!”

  
She gave an acknowledging nod, but her eyes were focused on Jaime. His hair was longer than she remembered, he seemed to have a new scars on his temple as well. Sansa wondered if her brother had given it to him. A slave boy brought her a stool and she smiled  to him and told another to get the child some food. He bowed beamed up, his mother smiling and thanking her before the too were seen to. 

“My how things have changed,” Jaime mused, looking up at her, his head resting back on the pole.

“I’m glad to have found you well, Lady Sansa. ” he told her, charming as always. 

He looked around them at the camp, taking in the people. “Apologies for any offense, but I had not thought you were a girl that would last very long in this type of place, among these type of people.”

  
“I survived your family didn’t I?” she asked, legs crossing under the silk of her gown.

“Yes, I suppose you did, though I don’t know how much longer you would have if you had stayed.”

  
“You underestimate me, Ser Jaime.” she told him, calm and collected on the outside despite her pounding heart. If Cersei knew he was here, that she had treated him as she was, the woman would have an assassin sneaking into her tent to slit her throat.

She was playing a very dangerous game.

“Why did you come here, Ser Jaime? You probably could have escaped Brienne as some point, I don’t think she would have followed you if you just walked away.” Sansa quirked her head, curious and suspicious.

“I swore to your mother---”

  
“And you're a man of your word?” Sansa cut him off, eyebrows raised at him. “Was that what you were going to say?”

  
Sansa almost laughed. Maybe one time she would have believed that, fallen for his charm and goodlucks, in love with the idea of a brave, noble knight of the Kingsguard like him. 

“Don’t try and fool me with pretty words of honor, you don’t have any.” she spat.

  
“You and your mother are very alike.” he didn’t say it like a compliment. “Always assuming you know just the type of man I am.”

Sansa composed mask stayed in place, but she was far from happy with the conversation. Perhaps it was because he had hit the nerve of a fault Sansa had that she didn’t want to admit to. 

The truth of it was that Sansa was a terrible judge of character. She was easy to use and manipulate, desperate and naive to quickly take a kindness from someone without ever questioning their motive. Little Finger would have had a right old time with her if Shae hadn’t been around to keep her off his path.

“Can you tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you, other than the obvious reasons being your sister sending someone for my own head?” Sansa asked and bluffed.

“Because I just don’t feel like that's good enough anymore.”

“Brienne and I aren’t the only one who’ve come looking for you. Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen are in the city.” he told her, the surprise of this news showed on Sansa’s face along with the fear that it brought to her heart. 

“You’re lying.” Sansa was quick to assume. He was just trying to scare her.

“I’m not, I saw them outside a tavern. Brienne was with me, you can ask her if you don't take my word for it.” he said. And there was something haunting, and unfamiliar in her eyes. 

“Why is here?” she asked, her voice holding a slight tremble. 

“Perhaps I could tell you after a meal, it’s been awhile since my last piece of bread. Perhaps you would be so kind as to spare me some.” their it was, that golden tongue, so smooth and persuading in just the way he formed his words.

He was more like Tyrion than Sansa would have ever thought. 

She smiled. 

  
Sansa looked pointed to a Dothraki woman and told her to bring some of the stew that was boiling at one of the pits. She didn’t untie Jaime’s hands and instead had the woman begrudgingly feed the white stranger. She nearly choked him when she slid the wooden spoon to far into his mouth. 

“You’ve eaten, now talk.” Sansa said, hands atop her lap, one over the otheR as she stared down at him.

Jaime cleared his throat a bit, wishing he had some ale to wash down that horrid horse stew.

“I’m assuming Viserys came following after your horde. He was with a man, Jorah Mormont, I believe your father was acquainted with him?” 

  
“He was sentenced to death for selling slaves by my father, in the name of King Robert. He escaped though.” she recalled her knowledge of the disgrace lord. Son of Jorah Mormont who was commander of the Night's Watch. Lyanna Mormont held bear island now as head of House Mormont. 

“Ser Mormont, it appears, is their guide. He’s familiar with the Dothraki, spent time with them and knows their routes. That’s how he knew where your camp would be now. They’ve been in Qohor for a few days.”

  
“And how do you know all of this?” her voice found it’s edge again as she further questioned him. 

  
“I asked around of course, Qohor is a mysterious place but if you pay the right amount you can learn it’s secrets.” he grinned and then bobbed his head side to side a bit. “Well, except for how to forge valyrian steel that is.”

“My father's sword is of valyrian steel, I have it with me. Your brother was kind enough to return it to me.” Sansa once again found her leverage. “It’s a lengthy thing, but it’s light. I’m sure if I wanted to, I could wield it with some practice perhaps.”

  
“If you would like, I could give you some lessons.” he gave a half smile, his eyes smoldering.

“Or you could get back on topic and tell me why Viserys would bother coming this far?” she said and smiled, her lips like double edged blades.

“He probably hopes to present his sister to your charming husband in hopes he finds her more appealing than you are.” he told her, poking at her vanity. “I caught a glimpse of her and she is just as beautiful as her mother was. You may have a right to be worried.”

  
“Do you remember queen Rhaella well?” Sansa asked, curious about the woman and finding her own mind wandering off the path in front of them.

  
“I do. She was lovely. You remind me of her actually, quite a lot.” he told her, his eyes softening with sympathy.

“How so?” Sansa raised a brow.

“She was always mindful of her duty, just like you.” he told her, but than his eyes grew angry at a memory. “Did Joffrey get the chance to rape you like Aerys raped her?”

Sansa slapped him, the sound not even breaking the noise of the camp, but two curved blades were pressed to either side of Jamie's shoulders and people stared. One girl ran off towards Drogo’s tent to report.

He had not meant to offend her, he had truly wanted to know if his nephew-bastard had fallen as low as the Mad King. Jaime hated rape and despised any man for forcing a woman after had had to listen to Queen Rhaella’s screams right outside her door, unable to do anything to help her.  He should have crashed through the door and killed the King their and then instead.

“No, I was fortunate enough to be spared that fate.” Sansa said, her palm stinging. “But Joffrey expressed how much he would have enjoyed raping me every chance he got.”

“He was very detailed on how he would do it and how when he was done with me he would give me to his guards and knights. He had no hesitancy in expressing what a traitor's daughter like me deserved.” she swallowed the bile that had started to rise up her slender throat.

“And what kept him from having his way with you, Cersei perhaps?” Jaime grinned, doubtful. Despite being a woman, Cersei had no sympathy for her own sex.

  
Sansa laughed, a terrible, bitter laugh that made Jaime frown. “Cersei watched and grinned when her son stripped me bare in front of his court, humiliating and shaming me infront of everyone. It was your brother that came to my aid.”

  
“Tyrion always was the gentleman.” said Jaime, looking not a bit surprised. 

“He’s a kind man, clever too and the only good one in your family besides your youngest bastards.” she told him, and Jaime couldn’t deny it. She was right.

He didn’t spend much time with any of his bastards, he couldn’t and they never actually felt like his but Joffrey. Joffrey was the proof, because he was everything terrible between Cersei and himself. But Myrcella and Tommen, by some miracle, they turned out right and kind.

“Yes he is.” Jaime agreed, wishing his father could see that and finally name Tyrion heir of Casterly Rock. He deserved it and by all law it should be his next. 

“I won’t kill you, out of a favor to him for all he’s done for me, but I also can’t let you leave unharmed and unpunished for your crimes.” Sansa said, her voice and eyes a bit softer.

“What do you plan to do to me?” Jaime asked, his back stiff even as he said it with a mocking grin as if he could imagine she was capable of anything other than that slap she gave him.

  
“I--”

  
“Khaleesi!” Irri came running up, out of breath from her sprint.

  
Sansa stood from her seat and touched Irri’s shoulder, bracing the woman as she caught her breath. “What is it?” 

“More strange people have come, a man and woman, they had men with blades with them and are with the Khal.” she barely managed to speak.   
Sansa twirled back to face Jaime. 

  
“You did not say they were coming!”

“I didn’t know.” he shrugged. “Can I have some more bread or some ale?” 

“Sansa grabbed a piece of bread from a random passing person and shoved it into his mouth.

  
“Not another word from you!” she spun and told Irri to come with her to the Khal’s tent. “Shae, stay with him, I know you won’t fall for his tricks.”

  
“Of course, Sansa.” Shae grinned and took a seat on Sansa’s stool, crossing her legs and letting her woven skirt fall to the side to show the sharp blade strapped to her thigh.

  
This was Tyrion’s beloved brother, she wouldn’t hurt him, but it was fun to make him think she would. 

Sansa was on a warpath as she marched to her husband's tent. The audacity of Viserys to just come unannounced with no warning. Already the Khal did not like Brienne and Jaime having come to them looking to take her, and now she had to deal with some haughty prince and his sister. What tricks did this girl plan to use to get her husband to sway from her?

As she reached the tents drapes she stopped, taking note of the men that the riders were keeping at bay. Looking them over she realized they must be sell swords.

She glared at them and her dogs came to hug around her body, creating a wall as the riders also flanked her.

  
Sansa gave them a appreciative nod before catching the sound of a soft, wavering voice from inside the tent.

  
“Please, Viserys, let's just leave.” a girl whispered.

  
“Shut up, keep your shoulders back and push out what little tits you have.” a man's voice hissed.

“ **Khal Drogo, this is Prince Viserys, first of his name and rightful king of the Andals and his sister Daenerys.”** another man spoke, and she could only assumed it was the criminal Jorah Mormont. 

  
Sansa threw open the curtains and entered into the tent.

  
“And I am Sansa Stark, wife of Khal Drogo, Khaleesi of this Khalasar and daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark.” Sansa smiled at her guests, making sure she gave herself a formal introduction.

Jorah looked pale as she stood from his knee infront of Khal Drogo, but not as pale as the woman in the room. Jamie was right, Sansa had reason to be worried.

  
Daenerys was beautiful, smaller and slighter than herself with white-gold hair that cascaded down her back. She wore a pale, sheer gown so that Khal Drogo could see her body, her thick cloak thrown back over her shoulders out of the way. She had a sweet, round face with beautiful plush lips and big, innocent violet eyes.

Sansa smoothed her face and smiled politely at her guests as she made her way around the small group

“Welcome to our humble caravan Prince Viserys, Princess Daenerys and Lord Mormont.” she bowed as she came in front of Viserys, having an idea of how to act with a man like the dragon prince. She had a feeling he wasn’t too different it mindset of Joffrey. A self entitled, inexperienced little prick who thought he was the one and true king of them all. 

She batted her eyes and smiled prettily as she took her seat next Khal Drogo.

“And what brings you to visit us this night?”


	18. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize in advance. I feel like I was all over the place in this chapter.  
> 

Viserys took in the gorgeous woman before him. He had assumed she was handsome enough if she had won over Khal Drogo, but he had not imagined her to be this beautiful. Had Lyanna Stark been this beautiful? Was her looks so great that she could capture his brothers heart and mind, discarding his wife and risking their entire house. His brother was a fool, and now he was dead. Viserys was nothing like him.

  
He hardened himself, sneered at the stunning woman before him that was of the same house that had allied themselves with Robert Baratheon and rebelled against his father and brother. They should have just stayed in their frozen castle and let his brother have his northern mistress. Who were they to challenge a prince, a king over some woman?

  
“You stole my army!” he twisted his mouth, eyes looking more fevered than ever in the light of the tents pit fire.

“I did no such thing.” Sansa denied calmly, Khal Drogo watching them with Irri in his ear, translating what he did not understand.

  
“Khal Drogo promised me his army in exchange for my sister's hand in marriage.” he explained to her, barely staying where he stood. He would be smart to strangle the bitch.

“Yes, I was told about your offer.” she had to stay collected and composed, she could not let him ruffle her feathers especially not in front of Drogo and the others. Thankfully she had plenty of practice with Joffrey.

“It seems you weren’t very discreet in your plans. So the crown made their own counter offer. Me.” she told him, hands clenched in her satin shawl. “It was not by choice to be sent here, but I was, and he chose me I had nothing else to do with it.” 

“You must have seduced him like your whore aunt seduced my brother. Did you let him fuck you first before he agreed to marry you?” 

“I did no such thing. I came to him dressed much like your sister is, said my greetings and that is all.” she swore, her words careful and slow.

  
Daenerys who had been pushed in front of her brother blushed at Sansa’s words. Sansa pitied the girl, not much older than herself and just as pathetic as she once was before coming to Essos and marrying Drogo.

“I have no qualms with you, Prince Viserys,” she tried to convince him, to end this and go on in peace.

  
“Oh, but I have them with you, Lady Sansa. You have something I want, and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.” Sansa didn't like the way he said that. 

“Are you threatening me?” she asked through clenched teeth, full lips twitching.

“Do not mistake my presence here, Prince Viserys, I could have these men strike you down at my feet.” she snarled, her patience with men like him coming to it’s end. 

  
She was done being the dutiful, weak, perfect young woman. She was not in court, she was amongst the wild men and women of the Dotrhaki now and she would not be restrained. 

“I am a king, you can not speak to me that way!” he dared to retort, looking anxiously around himself. “The Iron Throne is mine by right.” 

“You are a beggar king!” she told him. “You have no fortune, no allies, no power but your empty promises of positionto those who may help you.”

“Me? I may not have fortune, but I have friends, I have married a strong men with thousands of more at his command. I can destroy you if i so wanted, so do not test me any further!” she breathed heavy, her head throbbing. 

“My people are waiting for me.” he said weakly and uncertain.

“Then you have been told lies.” she said, almost feeling for the pathetic man. “ There are four kings fighting for the Iron Throne in Westeros and you have been here, in Essos all this time. No one has even thought of you.”

A plot was forming in Sansa’s mind, a dangerous one. 

If she helped Viserys, that is if she managed to convince Drogo to help him, which the whole situation was ultimately on him. It was his men, they would not go to Viserys without him leading them, without him giving them cause to stir their interests. Perhaps the challenge of pillaging unknow cities would be enough, but she could not be sure of that. 

  
Than their was Cersei, if word reached her, she would and her child would both me dead. She finally had a future that she was looking forward to. Now it was all fucked up. If things had stayed as they were she should have lived a content and at peace life. Their may have been death and violence, but their would have been no war, she would have been safe. Now, Viserys just being in front of her put her at risk. No matter how she denied it, if Cersei learned of this meeting she would only assume the worst, there would be no begging or convincing otherwise. She would kill her, and then she would send someone to finish what her father started and have Viserys and Daenerys killed.

Cersei would have figured that out eventually. She always hated Sansa, having her killed would thrill her. The woman so lacked joy in her life. All she had was the death of her enemies and the security of her house’s position on the throne to give her any peace and happiness. But, if Sansa rose up, her own forces at the ready she could make the first move, be an actual player on the board and not just some simple, disposable pawn. She could help her brother and get her own revenge. 

As happy as she was, she still dreamed of Joffrey’s head rolling from his shoulders, a spear through Cersei's gut, their bodies surrounded by their own blood. It was a dark and twisted wish, but it was born from dark and twisted treatment. Sansa had surviced so long, because she always made herself believe it was never as bad as it actually was. She tried to take comfort that she had a comfortable room, that she was fed, but she was no better than a caged bird or a rose given just enough water and light to still live. 

“But I may be able to help you.” she told him, and he looked at her with surprise. “I have the forces you so want and need. My husbands riders and my brothers men in Westeros, I can write him and have his men waiting to join up with us.  He’s fighting against Tywin Lannister as we speak.”

  
“I’ve heard of your father's death from, Ser Jorah.” he nodded, looking unimpressed and unsympathetic to her loss.

“You would have some shame to smile. It is because of my father you stand before me. Robert Baratheon had made plans to have you and your sister both assassinated when he heard of your plans to marry her, it was my father who spoke against such plot. It was because of him, that Robert on his dying bed forbid any attempt on your lives.”

She told him. “To him, you were just children after all, caught in a war that was never meant to harm you.” 

  
She looked at Daenerys her eyes softening, voice gentle and asking of understanding. “He just wanted his sister back. It was the Lannisters who but Robert on the throne when he killed your brother and Jaime Lannister killed the King.”

“What do you want?” Viserys narrowed his eyes. Sansa looked at him, serious and confident again. 

“If I can get my husband to rally behind you, and that of my brothers men, you can have the Iron Throne and the  _ six  _ southern Kingdoms but the North will be independant. The Starks will back your claim, but my brother will be and is now, King in the North.”   
He looked at her astounded and “How dare you think yourself so above me to ask for such a thing!”

  
“Accept it and be king of six or remain as you are and be king of none!” Sansa turned from him and took a seat beside where her husband still stood, looking at Viserys as if he was seeing right through him. Though Sansa did notice he did not have that problem with Daenerys, yet she could not find herself able to be jealous of the trembling girl. The poor thing was terrified. 

“I also want your sister.” she added quickly. 

  
“What?” both Viserys and Jorah asked. Daenerys looked confused.

“She’ll marry my brother.” she explained. It had been not too long ago that her brother had married, she was hoping Viserys would not know of such a private and small union yet.

She had to cement their alliance and guarantee that Viserys would not turn on her and her brother after helping her. 

His reaction told her he hadn’t.

“Such alliances as this one is not uncommon to be made through marriage. It’s makes sense.” she said, feeling much calmer than before. 

“My eldest brother is unwed still, he needs a wife and children. Their son, your nephew, will be a king of the North one day and the marriage will also guarantee peace and solidarity between the North and your throne for years to come. That is if if you agree to my terms .”

Dany watched on as her brother, as appalled as  he was by Sansa’s lead in such negotiations seemed, seriously consider what was offered to him.

She looked at the woman who sat next to the tall, dark man that she had been once told she would marry. She had not been sure what to expect of Sansa Stark if they ever met. All she had was what her brother told her. A whore and traitor, like her aunt. That she was no good, that her house had allied themselves with the usurper and helped to murder their father and brother. She was an intimidating woman. Beautiful. She had the loveliest shade of hair. Like fire Dany thought. It made Danny long for the Dragon eggs Magister Illyrio gave her, tucked underneath the bed of her room at the Inn in Qohor. She wanted to take them with her, but Viserys quickly told her to put them back when she saw the satchel she had attempted to bring them in. 

Sansa smiled at Danny.

“My brother is a good, kind man, Princess. I promise you he will honor you and never do you any harm. I know what you may think of my family, what you might have heard, but we bare no grudge against you and yours for what occurred between your brother and my aunt Lyanna.” she assured her, and Danny wasn’t sure if she could take her word for it for all that Viserys had told her.

Northerners were cruel, cold people.. Viserys said it made sense to give one of their women to a Dothraki, they were no different than Wildlings. But standing in front of Sansa, Dany thought she was more a princess than herself. She was tall, graceful, and even when she appeared upset she spoke so well. 

“I hear you have Jaime Lannister, may we ask what business he has with you?” Jorah asked, suddenly on the defense.

  
Sansa narrowed her eyes in his direction.

  
“He was my brothers captive, my mother sent him to redeem himself by bringing me home. I’ve declined that offer.” she told him. “I find that I am quite happy where I am. That is until you came to bother me.”

  
“The Kingslayer is here?” Visery’s swuaked. He sounded like a bird.

“Fine, I will agree to your terms here and now if I can chop off his head myself.” he grinned madly, looking happier than Dany had ever seen him. 

  
“No.” Sansa told him simply.

  
“What?” he gaped. “Why not?”

  
“Because he is mine to deal with.” she said without further explanation.

  
“But I assure you, what I do to him will be much less merciful than simply killing him.” she smiled. “May you take some pleasure and from knowing that much.”

She cut him off as he looked to argue.

“We are leaving the day after tomorrow. You have until then to come to me with your response.” Şansa told him. “Now, if you will, I have to try and convince my husband why he should follow you other than to see you sit on some ugly chair.”   
She ended it there, and they were quickly urged out of the tent back to their sellswords. 

  
Drogo looked at her, not at all happy with what had transpired but he hadn't interjected either even as Irri explained and translated in his ear.

“What have you done?” he asked her, not particularly aggressive, more annoyed than anything.

“I promised him nothing,” she told him. And she hadn’t.

“He’s a sniveling cunt.” he told her. “Now he thinks I’m so low as to fight for him.”

  
Sansa swallowed, she  shouldn’t have taken the lead as she had. It wasn’t her place and now she may have earned herself her husband ire. She had backed herself into a corner with her rash actions and now she didn’t know how to proceed. 

  
“ **You didn’t think.** ” he growled. His men would either see it as it was, a demotion of their energy to fight for the pompous boy or would look down on Drogo if he refused the challenge. 

  
“ **You're right** .” her voice shook.“ **I didn’t, but I’m scared.** ” 

She didn’t even realize that she had switched languages when she began to talk again.

“I have the brother of a woman who wants me dead, no matter if I let him go she won’t forgive it. She’s a paranoid wretch and she would find a way to kill me eventually.”

It took a moment for Drogo’s mind to translate what she said into his own language, and when it did he had her face in his hands, eyes burning. 

  
“I would never---”

  
She touched his hand “I know you wouldn't, My sun and Stars.” 

“But I don’t want to live my life, my life with you,  waiting and scared for them to come for me.” she leaned up and kissed him.

  
“I want to hurt them, I want to make them pay for what they did to me.” she said, hoping he would understand.

“Than they will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter I am going to try and keep it mostly through Dany's perspective. Learn a little bit about how they came to follow Sansa down and how she feels about the whole situation.  
> Also, this was not how I originally planned things to go.   
> YES, Dany will be marrying Sansa and Khal Drogo, the title will stand as it is. We will get there.  
> But, realistically, this would be the better arrangement for the alliance. Despite how little Viserys thinks of his sister, he also has his pride and I don't think he would give her up for her to be some side hoe. The idea of her marrying Robb would and getting even more out of it in the future would be much more appealing to him.   
> Sansa's going to be getting very close to Dany, and so is Drogo, and as the relationship and tension builds and shit happens that will explain the future events of how the three-way marriage comes to be.   
> So please, don't give me too much shit, that original concept is still gonna go down just the road there is gonna be a bit different now.


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is the DAENERYS CHAPTER!

Dany walked behind her brother and just in front of Jorah as they left the camp. She received a mix of ogling stares and sneers as she left. She felt so embarrassed and ashamed, having been brought to be offered to an already married man. She had never wanted to marry Khal Drogo, the thought of his scared her beyond belief and the way her brother talked about the Dothraki and what he would let be done to her to get his army eased none of her worries.

Sansa Stark was much more beautiful than she imagined, and more so than Viserys had wished. He had hoped if perhaps if she wasn't as fair than maybe they would have a chance to get Drogo to cast her aside. But she was so gorgeous, Dany had been startled by it. Her hair was so red, her skin was painted with a hundred freckled constellations. The light tan she had gotten from her days riding in the sun made her cornflower blue eyes pop beneath her full lashes. 

Dany was more than impressed. Sansa held herself so well, stood beside her husband as if the spot had been made for her. She looked like a queen when she had stood in the light of the fire and Dany had felt so inadequate. When she had looked at her, Dany had felt so abashed for coming to them so scantily dressed, the attempted seduction obvious. 

But she was the princess, not Sansa, the Iron Throne belonged to her brother and her family not to the Baratheon and Lannister Usurpers who sat it now. She thought about Sansa terms. She would welcome her into her family, she had offered her her brothers hand in marriage. She knew eventually one of them would have to marry if they didn’t marry each other. Viserys had more than once made an attempt on her maidenhood after she had her first bleeding. Illyrio had stopped him thankfully. But marrying each other would do them no good, it had no merit rather than to add to their houses numbers. As long as they stayed single with no children they had better chances of marrying for benefit. And that is what they needed, influence and power and the best way to get that was through marriage. That's why Dany couldn’t just marry anyone, it had to be someone that could give her brother something he needed.   
But sometimes Danny married what poor girl might marry Viserys one day if not herself. 

Sansa had a good head for politics, and Dany knew that just burned Viserys blood to be met with such a clever woman. But she he had also noticed the way he had looked at Sansa with desire before he had composed himself. Even Jorah had some appreciation for her beauty, but more than that he seemed to look at her with a bitter grudge, though she knew that was most likely directed towards her father and not the girl herself. Though to be honest, Dany hated slavery, if she had been in Lord Starks shoes she would most likely have condemned Jorah to the same fate.

  
The woman in question had seemed more than amiable when she had not been upset by her brothers nasty words. Viserys always believed he could do and say whatever he wanted without consequence because he was the rightful king of Westeros. But Sansa was right, in Essos her brother was king of nothing.  He was a beggar living on the charity of others. They had sold all they owned for food, drink and shelter through the years, sometimes being taken in before their host realized Viserys could not deliver on his promises. Illyrio was the last that had taken them in, keeping them for over a year without asking for anything from them. Viserys said it was because the man was smart, that he knew Viserys would get his throne and repay Illyrio kindly with wealth and position as the master of coin in his council.

“Please, Viserys, can’t we just go back to Illyrio’s manse?” she asked, reaching out to touch his arm. He ripped it from her reach, snarling and sneering at her with disappointment and disgust.

  
“We can’t!” he told her and continued towards the inn.

“Why not?” she asked, knowing she may very well regret questioning him later. “He was so kind to us.” 

              
“Kindness is not why he housed and fed us, you stupid girl!” Dany flinched at her brothers biting and mean tone. Jorah gave her a sympathetic glare.

“If we go back, it will not be empty handed, I won't be pitied and laughed at.” he was growing more upset by the minute, seething. Dany was afraid that what had transpired between him and Sansa had woken the dragon, and it was her who would feels the bite of it’s teeth.

  
“It’s not a terrible bargain, your grace.” Jorah spoke up after some time of silence. “Lady Sansa’s conditions are not unreasonable. You’ll have Drogo’s army and her brothers. Ther North are good fighters, strong and resilient in the harshest of conditions.”

Dany listened to him carefully. Her brother had not taken him as an advisor, but more of a guard yet he had been a warrior, he had been there when their brother was alive, when Robert Baratheon was king before he fled Westeros. What knowledge he had of their homeland that they no longer did could help them. But Viserys never took Jorah very seriously. Dany did. The golden bear was very kind to her, he watched out for her on their journey and when he came to offer Viserys his service he had offered her books of songs and histories from their country.

“That tart will not swindle me out of my Kingdoms!” Viserys responded. 

  
“One is not much to give up for all the rest. You will still be allies if you marry the Princess to Lady Sansa’s brother.”

As they reached the gates of Qohor, he brought his voice low, knowing that there could be ears listening in everywhere, ready to sell their secrets. 

“And, is this Robb Stark a good man, Jorah?” Dany asked the older man. She knew that it didn’t matter to Viserys but she was curious.

  
“I only saw him once, when he was boy. He was a handsome, strong lad and he would have been raised with the good and honorable morals of both the Starks and the Tullys. I don’t believe it would be an uncomfortable marriage for you, Princess.”

“And you’ll be Queen of the North. You can influence this Robb Stark on my behalf even if you ” Viserys finally started seeing some light to the agreement. “Yes, and one day when Daenerys bares a son that boy will be the the Lord and King of Winterfell and my house will have claim over the North again. I can have your son relinquish all of it back to me.”

Finally, Viserys was seeing the possibilities of the situation but he twisted it in head to convince himself it was his own idea, because that was the only way his pride would accept the terms and conditions of such an alliance. Especially with a girl from a house that had raised their banner against his. 

Dany felt some relief. Drogo had terrified her, he had eyes her hungrily, like any man would of course, but the thought of his taking her made her stomach shrink and quiver inside her in a most terrible and uncomfortable way. 

  
When Dany was allowed back to her room, she was quick to get inside. She barred the door behind her and quickly took out her eggs. She went to the fireplace and and put her eggs on top of the logs before lighting them. The three eggs did not stir at the heat, yet Dany had a childish hope that she might revive any life inside of them they still might have. Illyrio said they had been petrified in time, that they more stone than egg and more valuable than rubies. Viserys had wanted to sell them, but they had been a gift to her and her alone on their leaving of the manse and she would fight to keep them from him. Jorah had kindly enough come to her aid, telling him that perhaps it was best not to be so quick to sell anything of value that they had just yet. They might be able to trade them for ships later. That had gotten Viserys off her back. 

She thought more about the red door, of the lemon tree. Of the childhood lost. What had it been like in Kings Landing for Sansa? Was the city as glorias as her brother had said it was? She had so many questions and it seemed the only who might be able to answer then anymore was Sansa.  

  
What had it been like for her, what had she endured before coming to Essos and being married to Drogo and how had she been able to manage relations with such a man. That was not saying Drogo wasn’t handsome. His beard and dark eyes were a thing to think about, and he has such incredible muscles. Though the thought of him scared her she could not deny he was attractive in his own way.

Dany thought about how their journey had begun. Jorah, month before it had heard rumor that Dany would be marrying a Khal Drogo, someone he knew. So he rode to where he was to bend the knee and offer his services and sword. Since Jorah was familiar with the Dothraki he believed that he could he of some assistance in translating and helping them through the customs. But when word never returned when in fact Drogo would arrive to meet Dany they searched for explanation and found that Drogo, without consideration of Dany, had went and married another woman instead.

  
Viserys had been furious of course, finding Dany and quickly raising his hand against her before Jorah and Magister Illyrio’s men could restrain him. He had blamed her of course. Asked why she could not have inherited their mother's grace and beauty, if she had maybe she would be of more use to him instead of the stupid, slouching sister that she was. When Viserys calmed down, he had felt that they should give it some time, surely when Sansa Stark failed to satisfy the Khal and keep his interest, he would come to them for a new bride. Jorah had told them that Khals could have multiple wives. 

  
Viserys would have been fine to give Dany away as a  second wife if it meant he could get his army. He would let every Dothraki man and their horse fuck her if it meant he got his army. Her brother had no love for her.

  
The only reason he hadn’t left her to starve or sold her off to be a slave was becasue she was the only other one of their house left. It was out of blood obligation that he took care of her until he found a better use for her. 

  
Dany much more preferred the idea of marrying Sansa’s brother. At least she would get back to her country, she would be home. She hoped her brother accepted the offer, it seemed the best and only option that they had. But she worried that her brother might ruin it.

  
Later that night, when Dany was sure her brother had retired, she went to Jorah and asked her to accompany her back to Khal Drogo’s tent. She wanted to speak with Sansa and the Khal again.

  
“What do you plan to do, Princess?” Jorah asked her worriedly.

  
“Nothing, I only want to talk. This arrangement has to go through, if it doesn’t I’m afraid of what my brother do.” she was terrified but she wasn’t alone, Jorah was with her and that brought her great comfort as they mounted their horses and rode out to the camp.

  
They were not happy to be received by the camp, but they were brought to a tent all the same to wait the Khal and Sansa. It was hours until they were seen and with a blush, Dany realized why when she saw Sansa’s mussed hair and flushed face, she was breathing a little heavy as well and she was sure it wasn’t because she had run to greet them. 

“Princess, has your brother made his decision already?” Sansa asked, cautious and suspicious of the other woman, but kept her voice pleasant.

“Not yet, but I think he will agree to your terms.” Dany said meekly. 

  
Sansa recognized so much of herself in this woman before her and it troubled her and made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. If she gave into those feelings it could leave her vulnerable. But she also thought of how grateful she had been to have Shae, to have a friend willing to protect her. It was such a big and lonely world not to have at least one kindred soul by your side. 

Sansa had a slave bring her a stool, placing a pillow on the hard wooden seat to soften her sit. She made sure someone fetched the girl some bread for her service. She didn’t like the thought of people serving her without some payment. 

“How often does he hit you?” she asked Dany.

“Pardon, my lady?” Dany furrowed her brows. They were quite expressive and were a dead give away for the girls untrained emotions.

“Your brother, how often does he hit you?” she explained her question.

“I don’t know what you mean, my brother would never do such a thing.” Sansa rolled her eyes, a very unladylike thing to do, but all the same she did it.

“I know the look of a woman abused, having been one myself. I also recognize that terrible look in your brothers eyes, the boy who sits the throne now has the same madness.”

“My brother is not mad!” Dany said loudly, putting herself at her brother's defense. She knew what they called their father, and she would not have her brother, as terrible as he could be subject to the same taunting. 

Sansa didn’t flinch at the outburst. Just stared at the girl with pity, memories of how she had defended Joffrey against her sister and father coming back to her. She smiled sadly.

  
“I’m sorry I offended you.” she lied. 

“What will your own brother think of this situation?” Dany changed the subject, now believing Sansa’s apology at all.

  
“I think he’ll be very happy I managed to find him a beautiful bride from a good, prestigious family.” she told Dany who seemed unsure.

“Fine, may be surprised and not like it at first, but between myself and my mother to convince him and list him on the positives of such an a pairing he’ll accept it. 

“Besides you are very beautiful, and if he has any doubts about the match he won’t once he sees you.” She tried to be encouraging.

“But I don’t it’s you concern about my brother that brought you back. So, why did you really come here tonight, Princess?” Sansa asked, brushing some of her hair back off her neck. 

“What are you going to do with the King Slayer?”

  
“Ah, I see.”


	20. 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Jaime have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, do a lot of people want Drogo to live.   
> I'm kinda afraid what will happen to me if I do kill him. Is this how GRM feels, living in constant fear of his fans maybe before he decides to violently end a character?

“Would you like to see the Kingslayer?” Sansa asked, standing. She wobbled, suddenly feeling dizzy.

Brienne, who had taken up to job of being Sansa’s guard had come with her when Jorah and Dany came back. She quickly moved towards the woman to catch her, the maids doing the same.  Hands were on her everywhere, her arms, her back, her shoulders, all supporting her. 

Really, Sansa felt quite embarrassed. Brienne, who was aware of her secret looked at her with great concern but did not speak of it, knowing Sansa was still keeping her pregnancy a secret. 

A number of “My Lady!” and “Khaleesi!” was said.

“I’m alright.” Sansa was quick to say in front of their guests. She could not appear weak lest it get back to Viserys. 

“I just lost my balance when I stood is all, no need to fret.” She smiled for everyone, compsing herself quickly. 

Dany frowned as Sansa smiled and gently patted away the hands holding her. She watched as Drogo stood a little closer to his wife, not holding her, but there and ready if she looked about to topple again.  She said something to him in Dothraki.

“What did she say?” Dany whispered to Jorah, who knew the language.

  
“She was just reassuring him that she was well.” he told her. “When you’ve lived in the North for so long in can take years to get accustomed to the heat of the Free Cities. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  
Dany knew it wasn’t that Jorah held any real malice towards Sansa, but her presence and treatment was a bitter reminder of the life he had fled and the crimes he had so cowardly avoided the consequences of. Sansa was not wrong to treat him like a criminal, for in Westeros that was what he was. No one remembered him for this triumphs or valor as a warrior anymore, only the shame he had brought to his house, to his father who had taken to The Wall, now the lord commander, leaving their house and home in the hands of his aunt and her daughter. HIs aunt had died in battle they said, for Robb Stark, now his tiny cousin who carried the name of Sansa’s aunt held the reigns of their house and it’s future. 

“Come, I will bring you to the King Slayer. He will be leaving in the morning so I suppose I should allow you this chance to speak with him.” 

“You’re sending him back?” Jorah questioned, astounded by the the foolishness of such a thing.

  
“Yes, as a symbol of good faith I know Cersei and her son will not take.” Sansa smirked without humour over her shoulder on the way out.

  
“You said he would suffer?!” Dany reminded the other woman. “When you spoke to my brother last you said he would suffer for his crimes.”

  
“And he will, Princess.” Sansa stopped and turned to look at the fairer woman and was reminded of her dream, the one that had her nearly jumping from one of the Red Keeps balconies.

“He killed your father, he conspired against your house, these are crimes he will pay for.” she swore. “And he will also pay for the atrocities he’s committed against my father and brother as well.” 

She turned back around and continued to lead them to where Jaime was. Brienne uncomfortably followed as well, close to Sansa’s back, between her lady and their enemies. 

Jaime was still tied to the post, his head down, nodding off to sleep.

“There is someone who wishes to speak with you, Ser Jaime.” Sansa said soft, almost politely as she roused him from his shallow slumber.

  
At first, when the man looked up he had thought it was Brienne that wished to talk to him. From where she stood so close to Sansa, he already had an idea that she was not coming back with him, or even returning to Westeros by herself after whatever happened to him was done. Brienne was a true warrior and knight and yearned more than anything for someone good and noble to protect and follow. Sansa was very much like Renly in many ways, head full of dreams, handsome and capable of kindness and charity. All things that Brienne admired. He just hoped that Sansa Stark took care of Brienne while she was in the girls service. 

Then he saw the wispy silver hair, and his heart hammered in his chest when he thought perhaps Rhaella had come to escort him to the other side, her ghost haunting him one last time. But not this woman was shorter than Rhaella, and though she bared some resemblance, they were not identical. Though she was very beautiful, but unlike Sansa she had yet to grow into and own her beauty. She looked at him with such resentment and fear, as if at any moment he would break free of his ropes and finish what he started with her father. 

He laughed.

  
“Daenerys Stormborn?!” he thunked his head back on the post. How perfect his fate seemed to be, captured and at the mercy of all those he seemed to wrong. Stark and Targaryen, together side by side, what a day it was.

“You have a long list of crimes against both our houses, Ser Jaime, how strange it must be for you to have us both stand before you?” Sansa asked.

“Very,” he grinned, looking too at ease with the situation. Almost resigned.

“Why did you bring her here, to me?” he asked more somber.

  
“I think you know the answer,” said Sansa. “My guess is that she has some questions she would like to ask you.”

  
“Is that right?” Jaime tilted his head towards the silver haired girl.

  
Dany stepped forward, shoulders back.

  
“I’ll let you get aqaunted, but rest assured you are watched and will be stopped if you make any attempt on his life.” Sansa warned Dany and Jorah before speaking to her husband and walking off with him for awhile.

Hundreds of thoughts flew around inside Dan’s head like buzzing, biting horse flies, nearly driving her mad at where to start. She wanted to kick him, slap him, claw his eyes out for all that he had taken from her. She should be in her country, in the castle his sister and son slept and lived where her and Viserys should. He stole from them their father, their home and all their rights and riches and made it their own. Because of this man she watched her brother beg and plead for their livelihood, watch any and all joy that he had leave him when he sold their mother crown to have money to feed themselves. She had to grow up on the streets, learning to beg her way into a home for even just a night while her own brother contemplated more than once whoring her as a child, his own sister.

“What wrongs did we ever do against you?” Dany face twisted, her eyebrows so very expressive as she tried not to cry in front of this murderer.

Jaime closed his eyes and smiled. He was becoming increasingly tired of this bullshit. 

“I never wanted to serve your father.” he told her honestly. “And when I did I never once thought a day would come that I would shove my sword through my King, as mad and terrible as he was.”

  
“My father was not mad!” Dany shouted, hands curled into fists at her sides.

  
“He was as crazed as they come, Princess, it’s just in your family that a few of you are.” he shrugged as best as he could in his bindings.

“Most assume it’s all the incest.” it would explain Joffrey in his family's case, he supposed. They had always used the Targaryens affairs with their own siblings to justify their own love. When he was much younger he didn’t understand why he couldn’t just marry Cersei when the King had married his sister and those before him the same. He was envious of them, of the happy sibling lovers in Targaryen stories and songs. But then, later, he understood.

So many babes died when conceived between brother and sister, the chances of a healthy, long living child so small. Then their was the madness. Those that did live, always seemed a bit twisted and tortured in their lives. He was always so amazed by how perfect Myrcella and Tommen turned out. They gave him hope and revitalised his sureness that what he and Cersei had was right and true to themselves. They could never love or be whole without each other. So what if Joffrey turned out to be a sadistic prick. 

“I’m surprised your haven’t married and fucked your brother yet, it’s only the two of you left after all. Or maybe you already have?”

  
“Watch yourself, Kingslayer!!”

  
“Ah, Jorah Mormont, the fallen knight. The fuck up,  slave trader of House Mormont that escaped the noble Ned Stark himself.” Jaime grinned, riling them up to see what either one might actually do to him. 

“I was from a great house, the son and once heir to the Hand of the King himself, and my first orders were to guard your mother and twat brother Viserys. Your father sent me away from his side.” he told her, not even know the point he was going with this. It was all tedious talk at this point, and explaining himself over and over on why he killed the king was so exhausting and he just wanted to sleep.

“I later realized the only reason your father accepted me into the ranks of his Kingsgaurd was to do so as spit in my father's face. The two never liked one another. Their back and forth was childish really.” he sighed.

  
“I at least thought, no matter where he sent me or told me who to guard even if not him, my life would still be as honorable and grand as the songs. I wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne.” he said remembering his own naive youth.

  
“But within two years I was quickly disillusioned of any possibility of that.” he looked Daenerys right in the eyes at last.

  
“You know only what your brothers told you and I’m sure your dear Ser Jorah has avoided the telling you the truth, but your father was indeed mad. I watched as his mind decayed, becoming paranoid about everyone and obsessed with fire. He burned everyone he could, every death he ordered was a cruel, slow death by fire.”

“I was right there in the room, when he had Brandon Stark and Lord Rickon Stark killed. It was terrible. But by then I learned to withdraw into myself, take my mind away from what was happening right in front of me.”

  
“Your brother may have kidnapped Lyanna Stark, or even had some mutual affair I honestly don’t know, but the truth of it all was that if could have been settled between the houses if your father hadn’t killed those two men. No matter the songs, your father started the war not Robert.”

“You’re wrong, your lying!” Dany closed her eyes and shook her head. “The Usurper and your father plotted against my father, against my brothers claim so that you could take it for their own.”

“You came for the truth, and here it is, princess!” Jaime’s patience and humor came to an end. “I lay it all at your feet little girl to take as you will but it is the truth!”

“Your father could only get his cock hard when he burned a man, and after he would go and rape your mother and I had to stand there and listen to her wailing and pleas, told over and over that I couldn’t do anything, that I was not allowed to judge my king only obey and that is was I and every other kings guard did!” 

  
“We kept our vows, even when it meant someone we were supposed to protect was hurt.” he didn’t look away from her and he was glad when she didn’t either. 

“Your father kept me as hostage against my father as Sansa was kept against her brother, my father raised his banner, your father would have us follow the Starks with one of us hung and the other burned, reaching for each other.”

  
“My father came for me, to rescue me and I was supposed to fight him.” Jaime laughed. “How could I possibly do that, he only came for his son, to bring me home. I asked my king for leave to make terms with my father and everything could have ended between our houses then, Rheager promised me change when he came back and I believed him.”

  
“But your father sent a message back with orders for  _ me  _ to bring him my father's head, to prove I w asn’t a traitor. That wasn’t why I killed him though.”

“Then why, why did you kill him.”

“Because they said a pyromancer was with him, your father was going to burn down the whole city, with every man, woman and child still trapped inside it’s walls. If I hadn’t killed him then, he would have just given the order to another pyromancer.”

  
“You don’t know that for certain.” Dany shook her head, done with this horror story.

  
“Yes, I do.” he said sadly.

“And after it was over, I thought that was it. Rhaegar was dead, your father was dead and I would have been fine with your snot nose brother or Rhaegar's son to be named King next and my father would have been named their hand and he would have been satisfied having one of them marry one of Cersei’s children between whoever he had her marry.  I didn’t know the children would be killed, I didn’t know Ned Stark would come claiming the throne for Robert and you exiled.”

  
“I want to leave.” Dany said quickly, turning to Jorah and tugging on his tunic.

  
The old bear glared at Jaime before he escorted Dany away from the tied man. This was not what any of them expected. 

  
When they found Sansa and Drogo, Sansa was drinking some tea and sat on a number of pillows beside her husband that was sat on a stool, the two were talking seriously about something when they were interrupted by their return.

  
Dany asked what Sansa was going to do Jaime.

“I’m going to destroy one of his legs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah.  
> If I was Jaime I would be super tired of all this King Slayer bullshit he has to live through. Now, this is not be saying he isn't a bad person, he's done fucked up shit and needs to be punished but in all honestly it shouldn't be for killing a mad asshole who wanted to burn everyone and could only fuck his wife after burning someone to a crisp.  
> I thought long and hard about the irony of what should be done to him. I thought I might still chop his hand off, but I thought this held a lot more meaning if you think about Bran, even Sansa's leg injury in past chapters and how Jaime had injured Ned, all which will be explained and talked about a bit more in the next chapter.


	21. 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty short, I didn't think I could get a better ending that would flow into the next chapter

 

It had been a difficult talk to get her husband to agree to her idea. He was happy enough to gut Jaime from through to cock for her, stuff him with gold and send him back like that after she had told him more about the Lannisters. Sansa to say the least had been surprised by Drogo’s imagination. 

As tempting at that was to do, sit would take more work getting him back that way. 

  
“One leg is not enough!” he had argued.

“It is plenty for now.” she had tried to calm him. “He’ll need to be gagged so he won't bite off his tongue, and I may need some help lifting the hammer.”

  
“You will do it yourself?” he asked, greatly surprised.

Sansa wet her lips, took a drink and nodded. She had thought a lot about this. 

  
“My father would tell my brothers, that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. I will do no different and follow his words. I am his child too.”

Drogo was liking her father more and more and because of that his passion to help his wife get her revenge and honor back grew by day.

  
“You don’t have to. I will do it. I am the Khal.” he reminded her.

“And I am Khaleesi.” she looked at him, her eyes hard and determined, jaw tight and lips pressed in a thin line.

  
He argued no more. His wife, his beautiful, stubborn, fire haired wife was like no Khaleesi ever known. The active role she took in the Khalasar, the support she gave him just by being at his side, her open suggestions and her sensitivity as when to give it was not expected of her when he had took her to be his bride. She was constantly surprising him. 

He was not blind either to the way he looked at the smaller woman that had come to their camp. She was a beautiful woman, her body full and curvy with hips that would hold a child well. Her eyes were a color he had never seen before, and the way Sansa looked into them was as if she knew them from somewhere.

  
He asked her about it.

  
“A dream.” she told him. “I saw her in a dream. Riding a dragon and burning a city. There were wolves and stallions too.”

It sounded like a prophecy to him. The Dosh Khaleen were seers, they often foretold the Khals of their victories of omens to avoid and also what the future of their child would be when the Khaleesi came before them and ate a stallions heart as ceremony. One in which Sansa would perform herself he hoped. 

“My Old Nan, she used to tell me and my siblings about those who could see things, green seers, I honestly don’t know if it was just a dream or if meeting Daenerys and her brother is just coincidence but I can’t shake it and I think that’s why I’ve agreed to help them.” 

Drogo told her more about the Dosh Khaleen and their omens. He told her that even the greatest, strongest Khal and men did now dare go against their will when an open or prophecy was made. But it had never been heard of that a Khaleesi had ever been able to read such omens or have missions prior to becoming a Khaleen. It was only the death and great loss of a Khaleesi’s Khal that could bring forth the gift. It might make others nervous to hear that Sansa could do this while Drogo was still alive.

  
“It was before I ever came here, it means nothing. It only happened once, I am no seer” Sansa tried to dismiss any worry he might have.

  
Drogo wasn’t afraid though. He didn’t feel that this meant a short life for him at all. No, in fact he felt having Sansa with him would only bring forth a longer life and greater victories than he had ever known. Yes, he had made the right choice he felt more than ever after hearing her.

When Daenerys and Jorah came back, Sansa thought that Danny would have fought her or at least questioned her punishment for Jaime. Instead, she surprsied her with another question.

  
“Did my father, really burn your uncle and grandfather?” Sansa’s face crumbled a bit. She had never known either of them, but her father had been very close with them and her mother had actually been set to marry her Uncle Brandon before his death. 

“Yes . My grandfather was burned alive in his armor with wildfire, while my Uncle Brandon was tied to a strangulation device, with a sword just out of reach so that as he tried to reach for it he strangled himself.” 

My father never talked about it, neither did my mother, but they wrote it in books because it was that brutal act that triggered the war. Not my aunt, not your brother, but my uncles and your father. All they wanted was their sister and daughter back.”

Sansa had always thought her uncle and grandfather was so brave and noble to go to the king, how they had been willing to beg and plead for the soul female of their house. Lyanna Stark was a well loved girl by family and friend alike. 

  
Stuck in Kings Landing she had dreamed for Robb to come for her like their father and his brothers had for Lyanna, to take her home. She had been envious of the love and loyalty her aunt had earned from her kin where Sansa seemed to have failed. No matter how it was explained or how much she understood why Robb didn’t rescue her, it didn’t stop the feeling of abandonment that she felt, even now. There would always be a bitter feeling between her and Robb. Robb towards her for putting their father in the position of confessing his crimes, and Sansa towards Robb for not loving her enough to risk his pride for the honor of her safety.

“Our families have so much spilled blood between us.” Dany continued, taking a seat and the wine that was offered to her. “I just can’t believe you're still willing to risk everything, to help us.”

  
“I am risking everything, you right.” Sansa gave her a bitter smile and pressed her chin to her chest, looking at her stomach but to them it seemed she might just be looking at her lap in thought.

“I was told that as long as I kept you from my husband, that I gave him no reason to throw me away, that I would left alone and safe from the Lannisters for the rest of my days.” she looked back up at Dany who saw  mix of emotions in Sansa’s eyes.

“But why should I get to be comfortable and safe when back home my sister is missing, my brothers trapped as hostages in our own home, my eldest brother leading a war against the people who killed our father?” she told Dany. “What right do I have over them to be safe and comfortable?”

  
“I have done nothing but turn my back on my family, taking the side of my betrothed over my own sister, pleading my brother to surrender and take the knee to a boy who arrested my father for doing nothing more than try and keep a promise to a dead friend!” 

she shook her head and pulled the shawl she wore tighter around herself. “I abandoned my mother to take care of my little brothers alone while I went galavanting to the capitol with the frivolous dream of being a queen, wearing the most stylish gowns and going to lavish feasts and tourneys.”

“I am not risking everything to help you, Daenerys Stormborn. I am risking everything because that is nothing less than what the other members of my family have done thus far. It’s time I become  a player in the game.”

“What game?” she furrowed her brows at Sansa.

  
“The game of thrones.” she smirked. 

Then Sansa moved quickly, startling Dany as she took her hands in her own.

“We cannot allow ourselves to be pawns. We must find away to make use of what is available to us women and stand at the forefront of this war and not at the back waiting to be shoved at someone to make allies that will only desert later.” she advised Dany.

“We are our brothers greatest allies and greatest weapons, only we can bring either one of them the armies and strength they need to keep fighting and when they forget that we must be sure not too. We are not useless, weak little girls, we have the blood of kings in us too.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Dany was wise to on alert from such kindness. 

“Because you have suffered, and I know that pain too.” Sansa smiled sadly and leaned back again. 

Dany and Jorah left, saying they would be back tomorrow with Visery’s official answer. 

Sansa went back to their tent first, Drogo needed to speak to his men more. Shae and Brienne hovered worriedly over her the whole way.

  
“Are you alright?” Shae asked close to the tent, far from nosy ears. 

Sansa nodded and Shae frowned. “You’ve never been dizzy before, Sansa. You're the most graceful person I know on your feet, you never trip.”

“Don’t let anyone close but my husband Brienne.” Sansa told the large woman before entering her tent with Shae.

“I’ve heard of girls getting dizzy in the early stages, but it might be the heat, I need to know if you’ve been feeling different or aching in other places lately.”

“My breast have gotten more tender, and I’ve been having trouble sleeping.” She finally admitted to Shae. 

Her friend sighed.

  
“Tomorrow I will go into the city and find someone to examine you, before we travel again we need a third opinion, if the maester or healer I find confirms this then you need to tell the Khal.”

Sansa was worried about this. She was so scared it was too soon.

“Sansa, if you really did become pregnant right after your first time with Drogo then you are more than a full moon's-turn pregnant. You don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to, but we’ll need to know how to take care of you and what to avoid the next few months.” she rubbed Sansa’s back. The girl was just so worried her body would fail her, that she would give this great, wonderful news to her husband and people to only to either not be pregnant or lose the baby in the early stages before anyone could really tell.

“Your body is so much stronger than you think, Sansa. Have some faith in it to carry this baby to birth.” she took Sansa’s face in her hands and made her turn to look at her.

“I am so happy for you and I know Tyrion would be too. I think he would be so proud of you, as I am.”  Shae smiled and pressed a quick, brief kiss to her girls lips and then pressed their foreheads to one another. 

“He’ll hate me when he finds out I am conspiring with Viserys.” Sansa shook her head.

“No he won’t, our lion understands survival and politics better than any of us. He will hold no grudge against you for what you’ve decided. 

“I would never hurt him, Shae, whatever it comes to I want you to know I’ll do what I can to spare him.” Sansa promised her and her friend just pulled her into her arms in a hug. 

“Everything will be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, at first I thought that I didn't post the last chapter, that it was still in preview mode or something because I haven't received a single comment on the last chapter yet and I usually get at least 1 almost right away.  
> I know it's been awhile, and I am sorry, that why I really tried to get another chapter out with the last as soon as possible.   
> Comments are super important to writers because you can only favorite, follow, kudo something once. But you can leave multiple comments on a story and each one is taken into great consideration and fuels the fickle beast that is ones muse.   
> I realize I probably haven't thanked you guys for your awesome comments as much as I should, and if you read this I hope you know I do read what you have to say and it's amazing. Thank you.


	22. 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter.  
> Jaime faces his punishment.

At the crack of dawn, Shae left the camp to seek out a maester or healer in the city to employ. When Sansa woke not long after, Irri brought her food to break her fast and told her that Shae had gone to the city.

Her meal was soup, as Irri was under the impression from Shae that Sansa’s stomach was bothering her, and so the woman decided on something light and easy to take down with some bread. 

After she finished her meal her maids helped her dress. Sansa, for the occasion, decided to dress as close to her house colors as possible, as she was representing them. She was slipped into a billowing white gown and had gray fur draped around her neck. 

Suddenly, Sansa gasped as Irri cupped both of her breasts over the front of her white gown and the lowered on hand to her belly. 

  
“Khaleesi, you are with child!” the Dothraki maid said with a joyous grin, and Sansa quickly shushed her, putting a finger to her lips.

  
“I want to be certain before I tell the Khal, for the sake of the Khalasar. Shae has gone to fetch me a medicine man, to be sure. You mustn't tell the khal just yet.” Sansa told her with great importance.

  
“But Khaleesi, how can you doubt. I should have noticed before, you breast are swollen, you have been hungrier as the late even though you don’t like horsemeat much, and even your belly has grown some!?”

“Please, Irri, this will be my first and I am so scared.” and thens he said what had her worried most of all.  “I don’t want to disappoint the Khal.” 

“Oh, Khaleesi, you could never disappoint him.” Irri cupped her face, looking at her like she was a small, silly child. “Can you not see it?” 

Sansa shook her head. “See what?”

  
“How much the Khal loves you.” She said in a hushed whisper. “You are the moon of his life, his everything, you are so blessed. No Khal has ever had Khaleesi who was looked at and adored by their Khal as you are.”

Sansa felt tears prick her eyes, she was so emotional and temperamental as of late and now she was worried she would not be able to stop it and burst into tears. Sansa’s dogs whined, and pressed themselves around Sansa, licking her fingers and nudging her bodies. She did her best to scratch and pet all of them. Her pack had become very attuned to her feelings as of late.

  
“No tears, Khaleesi, this is good news, be happy and proud.” she grinned and brought both hands down to cup and cradle the Khaleesi’s stomach. “A stallion rests inside of you.”

“Thank you, Irri.” Sansa said. She was so grateful for the woman's guidance and how she has helped her adjust to her life. She would have been so lost if Irri hadn’t been there to teach her. 

“I would not wait long to tell the Khal, it is expected of Khaleesi to be with first baby before meeting the Dosh Khaleen.” Jhiqui advised, having watched the scene quietly before. “It is very good indeed you are already with baby.”

With that advice, she was able to go back to preparing Sansa’s hair. The front of her hair, at the top, was teased to a lift and then the length braided to the nape of her neck. The sides of her hair was braided against her head to the back,  wrapping around the remaining loose, curled hair and then pulled over her shoulder. 

  
She looked like a Dothraki.

Sansa asked that the girls put some small wildflowers in her hair, to give her a look of some gentleness. Today she was meant to be a hardened woman, a leader, and executioner beside the Khal but her heart had not been made for cruelty and she wished to hold onto some form of innocence. The girls smiled and quickly brought the flowers from the area around camp. Little blue blossoms and white unopened blooms decorated her hair like jewels. Around her neck, she wore a bib of diamonds and pearls. 

As the latch was closed at the back of her neck, Sansa took a deep breath and left her tent. She looked at Brienne who had been waiting outside for her. 

“You don’t have to watch this.” she said, giving her an out from witnessing what was to come.

  
“I am your sworn shield, I will not leave your side.” Brienne said, stoic of the situation. 

  
“Alright then, let us go.”

Drogo met up with her halfway to where Jamie was. He was wearing his more formal leather trousers and belt, his chest painted with the blue of his Khalasar, the color in which they chose to separate themselves from other Khalasars. She grabbed his wrist on the walk, as close to his hand as she could get while still looking strong and not like a needy, lost child at his side. Her fierce entourage of wild dogs helped her image at least. 

The short walk to where Jaime was felt like a mile march, she was near out of breath when they reached him. Sansa pushed her shoulders back and did her best against her frantically beating heart as she stood in front of him, at the bottom of his feet. Her dogs sniffed and some even nibbled at his boot clad thighs, whining and looking at her for permission. 

  
She shook her head and they sulked off to sit in a uniform line at the side.

Jamie strained to bend his neck around his post to look up at Sansa.

  
“Is this the day I die, then?” he asked her.

“No, this is the day you become a cripple.” she told him, blue eyes turning to hard ice. She watched as Jamie’s own green  eyes widened and fear finally showed on his face. He started struggling against his bonds as Dothraki men descended on him, lifting one of his legs to lay atop a two by four piece of lumber. His hips burned and stretched as his other leg was spread to the side away from the targeted led.

“Sansa, please---”

“You crippled by brother, you nearly did the same to my father when you injured one of his legs.” she reminded him. “I feel this punishment is equal to your crimes against my family. Take heart and thank your brother when you return that I am only taking one of your legs and thank Brienne I am not taking your hands.”

The Lannister man looked at Brienne, pleading almost ready to beg her to help him but then quickly pressed his mouth back closed. To ask her for help would put her in a terrible position. She looked at him with sympathetic eyes. The truth was, she knew Jamie was lucky, as Sansa just said she had wanted to take his sword hand. The hand that killed so many, that was his livelihood and honor, the hand that had pushed Sansa’s brother Bran from a window and the hand that raised a sword against Ned Stark and sliced through his leg. 

“Give me the hammer.” 

Jaime gave a shuddering breath and slumped his head down, chin touching chest. He would face this with dignity he thought, he would not struggle or bed, he would take this punishment in silence. He heard Sansa ask someone to give him the bit and soon a piece of thick leather was being shoved into his mouth so he wouldn’t bit his tongue.

Jaime took a deep breath and braced himself. Her tried to still his jittery leg as much as possible to allow for as much of a clean break as the hammer may allow him. He took hope that if Sansa was doing this herself, she would stop halfway through or not even have the stomach to do it at all. He couldn’t imagine she would get more than maybe two swings in, she might even miss. 

But then Drogo came behind Sansa, bringing the hammer in front of her and leading her hands to grip it, his own just above hers. Together, they lifted the hammer above their heads and brought it down on his knee, a terrible crunch and squelch sounded along with Jaime’s screams around the bit. Tears of pain welled in the grown man's eyes, and he shook his head as Drogo and Sansa raised the hammer again, bringing it down again this time just below his knee, continuing down to the weakest part, his ankle, the bones of his leg thoroughly smashed when they were done.

Sansa was sweating by the time they were done, and she was grateful for it because it masked some of her tears. Irri quickly wiped her face and with it the liquid from her eyes. 

“Bring the armored men.”and by that she meant the Lannister soldiers. When they arrived and saw what she had done to their Lord they cursed her, calling her names that on any other occasion she would have them killed.

  
“You are to take Ser Jaime to the nearest port and find a ship to take you all back to King's Landing. I will give you the funds to secure your passage, and once gone you will never come back.” she told them, her voice thunderous.

  
“Tell Cersei and the council their plan has failed. Viserys will sail to Westeros with an army, but if they surrender to my brother now and accept Joffrey’s execution, then Cersei will be spared and sent to live the rest of her days as a silent sister and her remaining children given to her cousins. If not, then the House of Lannister will burn by the dragon's fire.”  Sansa of course knew the Lannisters would never surrender, but with that message the injured Jamie was cut free of his ropes, the soldiers quickly going to him when the sharp tip of steel was pressed to the back of their necks. Sansa tossed one a bag of coin before they worked together to lift Jaime, carrying him out of their camp and towards the city. 

  
“You did well.” Drogo said in her ear and placed a rough kiss to her neck, his arm proudly wrapped around her middle. He touched her elbow and made her lift her arm into the air above her head. 

  
“Khaleesi!” he shouted to his Khalasar, and a cheer of was heard all through the camp for her. It’s wonderful to hear. Their shouts were empowering and resonated deep within her. Her dogs barked and howled, joining in.

She may not be a lady of a great house, but she was a Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea and that was just as good. 

Drogo grabbed her waist and turned her around, kissing her full on the mouth in front of everyone. And Sansa forgot all about how miserable and stomach twisting doing that to Jaime felt. Instead, in that moment all she felt was sweet victory over an enemy, congratulated for passing justice. The best part was that no one thought she would do it, that she would change her mind and let this foreign man go from their camp without a mark. But Sansa was not some frail woman, fine to sit at a big table and talk politics, but a woman ready to stand and defend herself, to pass the sentence and the sword through the accuses neck if she had to.

  
That was the way of the north, and Sansa no matter how far she was from Winterfell would always be a wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, next chapter I think we'll be paying a visit to Westeros again. Maybe.


	23. 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb receives a message from Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your kudos and reviews, if you like the chapters please keep letting me know in comments!

_My dear brother,_

_I hope you can forgive what I have done, but understand how it can help us._

_Viserys Targaryen came to my camp with his sister. I expected he did not think I would actually be present when he presented Daenerys to my husband. His hope was to have me discarded and his sister take my place as Khal Drogo’s wife and the Khaleesi of his great numbers so that he may take Khal Drogo's army for himself as he had initially planned before Cersei had me sent to Essos._

_  
_ _You could use those numbers too, Robb, you also need a greater cause to fight for other than just the interests of the North. I know you may think me just a girl, but brother I have lived in the capitol, I have more knowledge of politics than you think. Let me ask you this: if you manage to take the South, Kings Landing itself, do you plan to sit the Iron Throne?_

 _  
_ _Right now, you are only thinking about the present and bits and pieces of the not so distant future. What you need is to start imagining the bigger picture. If you don’t take the throne for yourself, something I can’t imagine you actually want, then you need to make sure that when you rip Joffrey down from that Kingship, you will have someone to put in his place._

_You’ve ruined any chance of that person being Stannis when you sent our mother to Renly’s camp, Renly himself is dead and his widowed wife's house has allied themselves through marriage with Joffrey. That leaves who? Theon's father? Even if Theon hadn't betrayed us he would never be a king we could back. Right now you are alone with only the North at your back, and as big as the North is, it’s not enough to win this war._

_Viserys was always going to attempt one way or another to get back to Westeros and stake his claim to the throne, but he has been forgotten by the people of Westeros, he has no supporters that I am aware of in Westeros, yet the Targaryens are the rightful rulers of the six kingdoms. Yes, you read that correctly, Six kingdoms not seven.  I have spoken Viserys and he has agreed to put in writing as King to grant the North its independence. But only because I have led him to believe that one day it will be under his family's ruling again if you marry his sister._

_I know you have already wed yourself to one of Walder Frey's daughters, and I mean no disrespect to my good sister's reputation and position as the Queen of North, in fact look forward to hearing how well your marriage goes. I am very curious at to the type of woman you are now married to._

_But this is war, and to seal such this alliance with Viserys needed some assurance that we would not betray him. News of what is happening in Westeros takes some time to reach Essos, though I have a feeling Ser Jorah Mormont, the traitor, who is with Viserys and Dany may have connections that he is hiding. I must be careful around him. But as of now, I  have no reason to believe that Viserys knows about your marriage._ _He doesn’t know of your marriage. This can work._

_What I need you to do is have the people in North start having men sing songs about Viserys, make him sound strong, honest and gallant, spread tall tales of him like wildfire through the kingdom. We need to give him a reputation, make him out to be a more suitable king the all the rest, even if it's a lie. I have no faith in his actual character, he is pompous and as near terrible as Joffrey but we need his claim for our efforts. That is if he even lasts my journey back to you._

_His sister is much more reasonable, she was very timid at first but I found she has a respectable spirit. She is closer to your age than mine, but I believe I can get along with her well.. I sense that her brother has mistreated her a great deal, but she does not seem to have let that ruin her. I really believe she can be a good ruler, be it as someone's Lady wife or Queen of the Six Kingdoms._

_It might sound ridiculous to you and conceited of my sex by me, but maybe what we need is not a king to unite us but a Queen. What difference really is there anymore, Cersei herself practically rules in Joffrey’s name. If she had been barren and childless at Robert’s death I wouldn’t have been surprised if she found a way to sit her own arse on that ugly chair, if not put Jaime on it._

_  
_ _Which by the way, he has been received and set to return to Westeros. Though he will not be returning to you but back to his family. A wedding present to Joffrey you might say._

_I crushed one of his legs. He’ll be near as crippled as Bran. I don’t think he’ll be able to ever walk right on it again when what's left of his bones are healed. I sent him the conditions of surrendering to you, otherwise, they should expect a Dothraki army_

_Our mother may be happy to hear that Lady Brienne will be staying with me as my sworn shield. I hope you haven’t been too cruel to her for what she did. Mothers always fretted so much over our happiness and wellbeing, she’s only ever wanted what's best for us. She was just trying to protect me. I hope my last letter assured her that I am very well and happy with my marriage._

_This all must be so surprising for you, that I have decided to take such chances. And I hope it has not hurt your ego that I did not consult you first. Just because I don’t know anything about a battle, doesn’t mean I know nothing about war. I read more than you about the past, about wars and how they were won, you know it’s true. I can contribute to your efforts._

_  
_ _What I need is for you to send a letter, promising your hand to Daenerys. If he by some chance learns that you are already married then I will deal with it. I will find a way to continue the alliance. Daenerys, who doesn’t seem terribly excited about the marriage does seem capable of being swayed to not hate the idea. If she ends up not having to marry anyone she might be the happier for it and we’ll still have a claim that we can ride._

_Believe in me, Robb. Believe in my as I have believed in you._

_And brother, there is one last thing I want you and mother to know._

_  
_ _I’m going to be having a baby._

 _  
_ _With love from your sister,_

_Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea and Princess of Winterfell,_

_Sansa Stark._

Robb has read over Sansa’s last letter thrice. She certainly was their mother's daughter, just as self righteous and unpredictable, but he wouldn’t that Sansa was not completely wrong in her ideals. She made good points. The cause of the North wasn’t enough to inspire others to fight for him outside of it. His numbers dwindled in each battle, even when they won. He need more man power if they were to continue. There was no way he could take King's Landing as he was. Many men had sons, in a few years they would be old enough to be soldiers, and that may very well be how long it would take. Years.

Stretching from the North to the south slowly, with Kings Landing as the end point of it all. They take the capitol, they take it all. Sansa was right though, if he reached it, he would either have to sit himself on the Throne or someone else. He barely was ready to handle the responsibilities of Lord of Winterfell, and had a hard enough time leading his army. He hadn’t even thought to name himself King in the North, that was someone else who gave him the extra burden of the title. He didn’t want to be king, he just wanted to avenge his father and go home.

He had dug a great big hole for himself when he didn’t bend the knee, and now he risked dragging everyone down with him if he screwed this up.

He had to bring Sansa’s news to his council. Whent they gathered he had expected they would not approve. It wasn’t that they disagreed with Sansa’s point, it was the fact that they would rally behind a Targaryen, and one who had never stepped foot on their country's soil before.

“But we’ll be free, the North completely independant of his reign and laws?” one of the men asked, coming around a bit.

  
“Yes.” he said.

“But what about the Targaryen girl Lady Sansa promised you too?” another brought up.

“It’s only on paper, until we can find another way to guarantee our truce. We may be a free kingdom but Prince Viserys will want some guarantee that we won’t raise our banners against him.” Robb explained.

“And what if this prince learns about Queen Roslin?” said another.

  
“My sister assures me that prince Viserys had very view resources of information regarding Westeros. She has promised that in the case he does learn about Roslin before we can figure out another means to secure the alliance, she will handle it.”

  
“And how may I ask will Lady Sansa handle it?”

  
“She has a strong army and husband. She may try to negotiate or threaten him for his further cooperation or she might just have him killed. If she does kill him and still has the trust of Daenerys it will be her claim that we back.”

“And what if we lose the princess?” another asked.

  
“Not everything is certain in war, we all know that!” Robb reminded them, his voice growing in range. “We have thought around nearly every obstacle that may come up, but sometimes their dead ends to what can be done. We just have to pray to the gods to keep us on the right path.”

“This time I will heed my sister's plea, and I will write what she asks. We will go with her plan and wait for her to meet us with an army and a cause greater than our own.” he told them all and right their and then, he laid out a piece of parchment and dipped his quill in the ink available to him.

“How comes the search for Arya?” He asked one of them while writing and take away some of the silence that had fallen over them.

“Nothing, My King.” one man sadly reported.  

  
“Damn.” he sighed. His mother seemed to grow more unstable by day as she was kept so far from her other children, barely able to do anything for them anymore.

Catelyn spent most of her days in constant wonder of how Bran and Rickon were, she wanted to believe they were alive as much as Robb did. But they no longer knew what Theon was capable of and her heart ached to hold her boys once again. Roslin had happily put herself in positions to be her good mother's companion. The two liked each other very much. Roslin was a pretty and humble girl of duty and honor, in which Catelyn respected and admired in any woman. Robb was glad to see them get along so well. The girl was sweet and homely, and though he was becoming fond of his wife he could not yet say he was in love with her. She was a timid girl and somehow he wished for a wife with more opinion.

He thought about the last words of Sansa’s letter. She was with child. He would be an uncle if her pregnancy faired well, which he had little doubt it would. Sansa may lack knowledge their mother should have had the chance to grant her, but if she had his mother's good luck, she would carry her child just as well as their mother had carried him, and her and their three siblings after.

He wondered what her babe would like like when it was born. He had heard that Dothraki had dark skin, like Martells. He tried to picture a boy with such skin, and his sisters red hair and smile. And though it was not the son of a Lord she would be having he felt a great relief in his heart that it would be the child of a man she seemed to genuinely care for, even loved. And most of all, it wasn’t a Lannister.

  
He knew, and Sansa herself wasn’t daft enough to ever think if she brought her child with her to Westeros it would ever be seen as more than a bastard. So what was her picture of the future, what would she do if she did sail to him with Viserys and her husbands army? Would she go back to Essos?

  
He knew that no one would approve of him giving Sansa’s sons lordship, but maybe if she wanted to stay he could give her some lands for her son. Bastard or not, as Jon was his brother Sansa’s child would be his nephew, his blood would run through their veins. Family more than ever was so important and it made him anxious to grow their family on his side as well.

  
Robb and Roslin had been lying together near everynight since they married, though he never forced her, and though awkward at first they both have grown to know eachothers bodies and what they liked so it was a pleasurable experience for both of them.   
He was embarrassed to hear that Roslin had been talking to his mother about their nightly union. Catelyn had shown worry for Roslin’s ability to conceive, and did not bring it up to hurt the girl's feelings in anyway, but only because Roslin’s mother had been a Rosby and their stock were not known for their robustness. Roslin had blushed and assured her that the Freys maester, Maester Brenett had examined her before the marriage and had found no reason why she may have trouble. Still Catelyn gaven her advice on how to lay and positions that may help the chances of Robbs seed taking plant.

It was always very uncomfortable and Robb had forbidden his mother of speaking of such inappropriate things again with his wife. Roslin had assured him that she was just trying to help, and because Roslin did not have her own mother to help her, she was grateful for Catelyn's knowledge as a woman who had many of babes herself.

Robb knew he needed to tell his mother about Sansa’s letter. He didn’t think she would take kindly to the proposal, but maybe he could distract her with telling her Sansa was going to make her a Grandmother. She might not consider the child legitamant, but it was still her grandchild and he hoped she might come around to the happier news.

Only one way to find out. He finished his letter and had a man go and bring it to his sisters hawk. It had been given the night to rest, with water and plenty of feed. It should be well enough again to make the journey. It seemed to take any bird a near month between his camps and essos, but their was no faster means of communication and he had to hope that everything was still well enough with Sansa’s arrangement with Viserys since she first wrote the letter.


	24. 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's pregnancy progresses as does her feelings for Dany.

It had been confirmed by a midwife Shae had found in Qohor. The old crone Shae had also worked as a healer. She had plenty of credentials to examine Sansa’s condition properly and so Shae had paid her price and brought her back. Feeling a woman who had delivered babies near all her life would.

“Aye, his seed must have taken the first try. Good for you.” she had advised after rising from between Sansa’s spread legs, wiping her hands.

“Riding horseback for the first half of it won’t hurt you or the babe, but if you feel any pain or stirring sooner, then you best take to riding in a cart, or go side saddle which will be hard when your belly's gotten fat.” the old woman said crudely with a laugh.

  
“It different for everyone, your ankles might swell, and you’ll have a hankering for foods you’ve never thought of eating. Most of all, mind the wine, not good for the babe to drink too much. It does something to them.”  she tells Sansa and Shae.

  
“You got a good womb, nice wide hips, you should carry and deliver with little problems. I suppose you may have a midwife somewhere in this hoard of yours, can’t imagine why you needed me to take a look at ya.” 

  
“I didn’t want anyone in the Khalasar to know until I was sure, I didn’t trust the midwives we have here not to tell my husband.”

  
“Your first babe is always a scary thing, so many worries, but you're just the right age to start having babies, you’ll be fine.”

“I’d say you could tell your man the happy news now, rest assure you're pregnant and it’s going well.” the woman told her, packing her things. “I’d have your midwife check on you now and then.”

It had been another two moons since then, making Sansa’s a little more than three months pregnant, and she was so happy for it. Just after Viserys had come to them, accepting her proposal, Sansa and Drogo had made mad, passionate love and she told him about the baby after reaching her own shaking orgasm. He had been thrilled, more excited than she had ever seen him before. He said a babe being conceived before a great battle, meant good fortune. They fucked two more times that night, Drogo’s lust suddenly insatiable after learning he was to be a father. 

The last two months had been difficult, to say the least, Viserys was the laughing stock of the Khalasar. Not a single man or even child had to respect him. He had brought a whore with him from Qohor to keep him company, so he didn’t bother the other women and Sansa was thankful for that. Shae said like any whore, the girl he had brought cared not for him, she played on his ego like any other woman trained like her would do. She was only after his gold and protection if he could at all even offer that. He was constantly impatient and didn’t understand why they were traveling further away from the sea rather than toward it.

Jorah who knew the Dothraki best, and had heard of Sansa’ pregnancy, advised him that the Dothraki would travel towards the battlefield when their omens favored war, and to have the omens read they first must see the Dosh Khaleen who Sansa was already expected to meet. Of course, Viserys had scoffed at that. 

Viserys didn’t think much more about casting her down, though she was sure he still kept it as an option at the back of his mind. It would mean he still kept his army, and that he didn’t have to give up the North. The fool man underestimated Drogo’s affection for his wife though, and he made it clear that Sansa was not to be disrespected, more than ever now that she carried his son.

After although she supposed Viserys was better than the Lannister soldiers that had shadowed her. For the most part, he kept his distance, though when he did decide to go outside of his tent he walked around like he was the Khal himself. 

In truth, there were similarities that Sansa and Viserys shared, such as wearing city silks. But where his clothes were soiled and stained, looking an absolute mess by the end of the day, Sansa some how wore the muck that dirtied the train and hems of her gowns with grace and pride, the stains looking purposeful, blending it with her gowns in an ombre. Other dresses that she wore were just cut at the ankle, so as not to be dirtied. 

Dany could tell that it infuriated Viserys that Sansa looked more like royalty than him. Sansa tried not to mind him, avoiding him even as did Drogo who kept company with Jorah who he was already familiar with while Sansa took up with his Daenerys. 

Riding so much was difficult for Dany, just as it had been for her. She could barely take it after the whole second day. She was an aching, knee’s trembling like a newborn calf. Sansa had her brought to her tent where she was taken care of her, her legs massaged and cold water brought to drink and wipe the sweat from her. Sansa told her how it had been rough on her for the longest time, that it was a great adjustment if one was not accustomed to riding often. 

“Your legs with get stronger, and your blisters will turn to callouses. I can give you some good gloves if you want to avoid getting any more?” Sansa had kindly offered. “Or you can wrap your palms as you see the others wearing.” 

For awhile their talks were short, but soon Dany began to initiate the conversations.

“Jorah says in the dry season, that red flowers blood in the Dothraki Sea. He says there are hundreds of different grasses, some yellow as a lemon, some blue and orange. Like a rainbow.”

“That sounds incredible” Sansa smiled, so happy for the company. And Dany got along well with Shae and the other girls.

“Jorah says the Dothraki believe that someday ghost grass will cover the entire world, and then all life will end."

  
Sansa laughed. “And that sounds terrible.”

Dany decided to change the topic to a more lighter tone. “It’s beautiful here.” 

“Yes, it is.” Sansa had to try and not look at Dany when she said that. 

She didn’t tell Drogo, but she began to dream of Dany again and her dragons. But in life they were not dragons, just eggs, frozen in time yet Dany kept them by candle light every day, sometimes she would even put them in her fire pit as if trying to hatch them.

The girl was beautiful and could be very charming. She had a certain, clumsy arrogance, slowly coming into and learning her worth and place in the world. In the near two months of being together, growing closer, Sansa tried to nurture her and empower her as best as she could. Viserys was proving himself more and more a risk to follow, but Dany, Dany could be just what they needed.

  
She cared about people, she hated the idea of slaves as Sansa did, and she tried her best to keep everyone taken care of equalized if she could in the Khalasar. If she had more power, she could only imagine the possibilities of the great things she would do. 

After their months of traveling, Sansa’s belly had grown a little more, and Drogo’s lust had her exhausted. They had made camp for the day, and Sansa felt so tired so they sat by some wildflowers that Sansa plaited in Dany’s hair some. Sansa herself now where her own hair in a variety of plaited styles.

Sansa started telling her about the North, of Winterfell and roses in the glass garden, Sansa’s favorite.

  
“Do you think, my brother really raped her?” Dany asked, meaning Lyanna Stark.

“I don’t know.” Sansa shook her head.

“The romantic in me would like to believe that they fell in love, that my aunt chose to go with him but my father is no liar. He found her, in a tower, in a bed of blood. So he must have, maybe she made him angry, maybe she became homesick and thought it was a mistake.” there were too many maybe’s. No one but the dead could tell them the truth.

  
“Do you think your brother will like me?” Dany turned where she sat, looking at Sansa.

They had only received Rob’s letter promising his hand to Dany a few days before. A separate letter meant for her eyes only spoke of his relations with his wife, that she was a lovely young woman that Sansa would like, and how their mother was faring as well. There was no update on Winterfell's capture my Theon and in extension their brothers, nor had they seen or heard anything of Arya. Sansa began to worry that she might actually be dead. 

The red haired woman looked into Dany’s eyes, her thoughts forgotten as she was mesmerized by the princes's eyes, the color of amethyst. Sansa loved Amethyst. She thought of her dream. When she had stretched out to Sansa crown of blue roses like her brother had extended to her aunt before either of them were born. 

She knew it, deep inside of her what that could mean, that this girl would sweep into her life with those beautiful eyes and a hand full of roses and take her on a journey that would be sung about for centuries to come. Sansa Stark and the Dragon Queen. But would she be her rise to grace or her fall to damnation?

She wanted to kiss her oh so badly. She had the prettiest lips, full and soft. Sansa imagined them pressed against her own and other places. Sometimes, when she was with Drogo, she imagined Dany was with them, in between them, caressing and kissing, making each other sigh and moan. 

“What?”

Dany’s expressive brows furrowed in worried, and she gave a nervous little laugh. Shae stared amused, not too far off from them. She had an idea where Sansa’s mind had wandered and she wondered if it had been her bad influence that Sansa’s had become such a lusty thing, but then again she felt that was just a part of her that until she became a woman couldn’t be explored. But she worried what this infatuation with the dragon girl could lead to.  

“Are you alright, Sansa?” Dany touched her cheek, and then pressed the back of her hand to Sansa’s forehead.“Are you feeling ill? Is it your baby?”

Sansa shook her head and smiled brightly, touching her belly.

“No, he’s doing just fine.” she tells her. 

“You’re very sure it’s going to be a boy.” Dany pointed out something she had noticed.

  
“I remember my mother once said, that when she carried brothers, and only when with my brothers, her feet were always  _ cold. _ ” she said. “Mine are too.”

  
“Really?” Dany quirked her head, finding the myth interesting.

  
“My father said, his mother was the same. That her feet were cold when she carried him and his brothers. Old Nan, said that it was the telling of a northern son because Northerners don’t feel the cold like others. So if we’re cold, it means something.”

“He won’t be very much Northern, though, will he?” Dany had meant no offense at all when she said it, and immediately regretted it for how it might sound. 

  
“No, I suppose he’ll be _ Eastern, _ for Essos and the Dothraki, and raised like an Eastern child. But a part of him, like me, will always be Northern.” Sansa smiled, not upset at all my Dany’s words.

“Then, have you thought of names?”

  
“I have.” Sansa nodded. 

“And?” the other was curious to know.

  
Sansa grinned. “Irri says it’s bad luck to say it before the ceremony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, reviews are love, reviews are life and fuels the energy in which helps me post every new chapter. That and soda. I blame you for my cavities.


	25. 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TYRION IS BACK!!!

It had been months since Jaime had arrived on a boat in the harbor of Kings Landing. His sister was relieved to see him, to have him back, when she had caught sight of his mangled leg that all seemed to leave her eyes. As if he wasn’t the same person she had known all her life, her other half. If Jaime couldn’t fight, he wasn’t whole.

But she had other ways to show she cared, calling Sansa the foulest of names and swearing she would kill the girl. She admitted it was a mistake to send her, that she couldn’t be trusted to uphold her end of the agreement. Joffrey as well was furious, feeling that sending his uncle back was to mock him, and of course his injury was practically a crime against himself and so he had to have justice. He had sent out warrants across the sea for Sansa’s head.

Even Tywin, who was once again hand of the king had sent an assassin to take care of the girl. A proud man like Tywin could not allow anyone that had harmed his eldest son to live to spread the word. Even if she was across the sea. He believed Robert wasn’t wrong when he had wanted to end the last two Targaryens. They had no one to avenge their deaths like Ned Stark did, if they had been killed back then they could have avoided the present situation. But honorable Ned Stark wouldn’t have that, or at least not be a part of it and in the end the honor of a dear, best friend affected Roberts last wishes. 

“How is your leg feeling?” Tyrion asked his brother, waiting for him in his chambers. 

Jaime was just coming back from some practice with Bronn. The older of the two brothers had been downtrodden since he got back from Essos. His leg was a heavy burden that dragged and weighed him down and it wore on him.  It had been a difficult recovery before he could even put his full weight on it again, trapped in a chair or had to walk with crutches like some old man.. Worst he still had many problems with it that caused him to become frequently depressed and angry with himself. Tyrion thought if he had Bronn help him with his sword work it may improve his moods. 

Bronn didn’t give two shits about Jaime or Lannister pride and so didn’t hold himself back in training him. More than that Bronn knew how to fight every which way, he could find away to get Jaime around his leg, teach him tricks of stance. Speed was the best ally of any swordsman and if Jaime couldn’t get it back, he was doomed to die if he tried to go back into battle. 

“The bloody thing aches near all the time. They should have cut the blasted thing off!” Jaime said and tossed his sword across the solar, the metal clanging as it skipped and skidded across the marble, catching and bouncing glares of light against the walls. 

“And if they had you would be more miserable than you are now,” Tyrion said, breaking apart a roll. He had some food brought to the room for them both. Thought his dear older brother might be hungry after getting his ass kicked by his sellsword.

“Without your leg, you couldn’t stand, and if you can’t stand you can’t very well fight with a sword anymore. Your lucky Cersei’s maester could save it.” he said, though he had held no fondness or trust for Qyburn. He was a distasteful, dark person, and he feared what his sister might be plotting with him. 

“Yes but I can’t move, I can barely bend my knee it’s like have a log for a leg.” he complained. 

“We have Cersei’s Maester, Pycelle and Bronn, they are all helping to get you back to your former glory. You need to be grateful for your life, that you're finally back with your family.”

  
“And I suppose I have you to thank for that.” Jaime said running a hand over his brow to wipe the  sweat. He dropped in the chair across the table from his brother and Podrick quickly moved to assist him getting his leg up on a ottoman to rest.

  
“What do you mean?” Tyrion was confused. He had nothing to do with Jaime getting his leg cared for, the thanks would have to fall to his sister on this one.

“Sansa didn’t kill me because of you. She said ‘thank your brother for your life’.” Jaime scoffed with surprising good humor. 

“You pushed her brother from a tower window, crippling him, you attacked her father before this war ever began. I’m not saying I am not upset with what she did to you, but can you blame her?”

  
“No.” Jaime said seriously.

“She’s so much like her mother, I swore for a moment that it was Catelyn Stark herself standing in front of me again.” he said, thinking back to the woman who had set him free. She would not be happy that he didn’t bring her girl home.  

“What of your oath to Lady Catelyn?” Tyrion asked. Jaime having mentioned it briefly when explaining why he had been let go from Robbs camp in the first place.

“Nothing I can do. She refused to come home and with what she did to my leg I couldn’t have very well been able to try and convince her even if I had wanted to.” Jaime shrugged, not having really thought about it. 

“Besides, Brienne is with her. That beast of a woman has Lady Catelyn’s trust and will protect the girl with her life, that should be enough for a mother.” he thought of the woman knight that had been his companion and admitted he missed her company.

  
“Cersei would disagree.” Tyrion started out the window himself. His sweet, niece, sent far away and safe.

  
“That was cruel of you to send Myrcella away from Cersei.” Jaime stared hard at his brother. “Especially to the Martells.”

“The Martells had no reason to ally with us before and no reason not to raise their own banners against us in this war after what father did to Elia and her children.” Both brothers were silent. They had no actual proof that Tywin had given the mountain the order to kill the princess and her two young children, but whether he did or not he had laid their bodies in their family colors at Roberts feet, and that alone was an omission of guilt.

“They could have easily joined forces with Robb Stark if either one looked pass the history between Lyanna and Rheagar.” he said and cut into some of his meat. 

“I am sure they won't hurt her. Doran and Oberyn, despite the reputation the Dornish have. Doran himself wants peace and he is still ruling prince of Dorne. They won't hurt Myrcella.”

  
“You don’t know that for sure. They could be treating her as Cersei and Joffrey had Sansa, they could have her locked up and imprisoned like Elia was in the Red Keep.” Jaime actually began to sound concerned for his bastard daughter.

“Doran will honor this arrangement with her safety and happiness, it’s Oberyn who wasnts revenge and he is not in Dorne. He travels with his lover and Myrcella writes to Cersei all the time, in her own hand. She’s sad on someday’s, yes, and misses her mother and Tommen, but’s she is well.” he tried to explain the politics of it to his brother.

“Through a betrothal of Myrcella and Dorans oldest boy, we secure at least their neutrality in the war.” he took some bites of his food and a long drink of his wine. 

“Now that Stannis fleet has been destroyed, and Robb Stark is still so far from our borders, we may even have her returned for awhile, at least as a guest to her brothers wedding.” he said with a happier note, but Jaime didn’t look convinced.

Tyrion sighed.“Believe me, keeping her would have been even crueler. I had begged Cersei to send the children away, for their safety. Kings Landing is the greatest target in all the world, everyone has the arrows and swords pointed at us, it is the most dangerous place for them to be.”

He looked Jaime in the eyes.

“Cersei was ready to poison Tommen before father arrived when she thought the battle was lost to Stannis. If he had arrived even a second later our sweet nephew would have been dying in her arms. It’s no surprise father had him sent away to foster with Uncle Kevan after he saw the vile Cersei had dropped.” 

He could only imagine the terrible sight that would hae awaited their father if Tommen had drank that liquid. Tyrion was glad both the children were far from their older brother and the Iron Throne. Perhaps that would allow them to grow up, uncorrupted by this sick game of power and death. Their Uncle Kevan was currently ruling the west in his older brother's stead, Tommen would be well taken care of and have a good, proper education. He had always liked their Uncle Kevan, and the man always liked him, he and their Aunt Genna who recognized that Tyrion was the most like Tywin out of his three children.

  
“The boy has been at Cersei’s breast far too long, she might as well me Lysa Arynn. You should have seen that boy sucking on her tit.” He said remembering seeing her grown by sucking milk from her breast right in front of him.

  
“Cersei loves her children, they are her entire life you know that yet you purposefully did something so cruel to her..”

“Than the better for her her to make sure they live through this war. I didn’t send Mycella away to spite our sister!” Tyrion said passionately.

“I’ve said it before, I do love my family and I am trying to protect it yet no one seems to acknowledge how hard I fought for all of us, worked to make this kingdom and house Lannister greater than before.” Tyrion took a deep breath. Losing his composure was not like him.

Jaime wasn’t sure what to say to cheer his brother up.

“You could always join me in the Kings Gaurd.” he joked. 

Jaime had been surprised when he heard his little brother had fought in the Battle of Blackwater and so proud of him. His brother, though the world wouldn’t know it, was a war hero. The Keep would have fallen to Stannis long before their father arrived if it wasn’t for him. Jaime didn’t have to be there to know it was the truth, his brother had a mind for politics and strategy without ever fighting in a real battle, he knew people, could predict them. 

Tyrion cracked a smile.

He started to think again about the young woman he had sent away on that ship and with her his lover. He was glad Sansa had done well in her marriage, that she found a place she felt happiness and had the power to rule her own life without others deciding for her. But he feared for her.

“I have to say, I am very surprised. I thought if Lady Sansa found her happiness, she would have kept to herself,  maybe write to her family and have some children, but keep herself far from this war after what’s she endured.” Tyrion admitted, watching the wine swirl about his cup.

“It appears we all underestimated her thirst for vengeance.” Jaime said, looking out the solar to the blue sky above the stinking, decay of King’s Landing. 

  
“You said she spared your life because of me, but I only did for Sansa what you always wished you could do for Queen Rhaella.” he told him, remembering when he had seen Sansa after becoming Hand of the King.

  
“What Joffrey and Cersei did to her, let happen to her, was terrible and cruel. The only thing she was spared was being raped, and I feared that Joffrey wasn’t too far from having that done too.”

“She doesn't look anything like her.” Jaime said, and Tyrion looked at him funny.

  
“No, I suppose Sansa wouldn’t.”

  
“I meant Daenerys. I thought she would look more like her mother.” he mused out loud. “She had all the coloring, the hair, the eyes, the fare skin, but she doesn’t look like queen Rhaella.”

  
“She’s exactly what Nedd Stark said she was. Just a girl. When she stood in front of me, asked me what wrong her family did, I saw nothing of Aerys. She was just a scared, confused girl.” Jaime leaned forward, elbows resting on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

  
“And Viserys is a self entitled little shit who’s probably never had command over anything but a whore.” he sat back up.

  
“Lady Sansa may have sway over the Khal, but she won’t be able to get those men to cross water.” his older brother felt sure of this after seeing their camp. “She’ll play Viserys for awhile until he picks a fight he can’t win and gets himself killed, then we’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Tyrion didn’t say what he was thinking.

_ What about Daenerys? _

“I suppose so, but we’ll have to be careful. Jorah has been a spy for us for quite some time, if he wants to be pardone and returned home, he’ll keep informing us.”

  
“If he hasn’t fallen in love with the princess yet,” Jaime scoffed, remembering the way the old bear hovered her, the glances.

  
“We still have other sources,” Tyrion assured.

  
Since his father had returned and taken over the small council, he had approved a marriage between Little Finger and Lysa Arryn, who he was already acquainted very well with. It had left his position as master of coin vacant and so when Tyrion pointed this out, his father thought to reward him with the position since Little Finger would be busy as Lord of the Vale, getting Lysa and her army on their side against Robb Stark. 

  
“Speaking of sources, I hear Father wants you to marry one of Lady Margaery's ladies.” Jaime leaned back, taking a drink.

  
“All her girls are very pretty, most from good houses too. It might not be bad for you if you can give him some more grandchildren. He’s always going on about his legacy. It might soften his attitude towards you.”

“Yes, it’s already been decided I am to marry Mira Forrester.” he sighed and drank his cup empty before refilling it.

  
“Lovely girl, desperate to help and protect her family. Fathers heard she’s been trying to influence lady Margaery to assist her house, but she can only push so far before it become dangerous for herself and our future queen.”

  
“Fathers taken pity on her circumstance?” Jaime raised and disbelieving golden brow. 

  
“Not all all, he’s taking advantage of it and saving Cersei from claiming her a traitor along with Lady Margaery.” Tyrion sighed, remembering his own meetings with Mira. 

Mira was a lovely woman in a terrible position. She was desperate to help her mother and family at home, with Tywin’s pressure and the desperation of her mother and younger brother running their homestead, there was little option but to agree to the match. 

More than half of their forces were fighting for Robb Stark, leaving them exposed and weak against their rivals the Whitehills. Most of the royal navy had gone up in green flames and they needed good wood to rebuild the fleet. The match was mutual advantage for the both of them. 

“The whitehill had planned to sell the Forrester ironwood  right from under her family, she agreed to speak on behalf of them and though I had planned to manage the situation on my own for awhile. Only father heard of it.” he traced the ring of his cup. “And decided to intervene with his own plans.”

“She wanted our protection, if we had granted it without the marriage it would mean a dangerous outright war between her house and the Whitehills. I wanted to help her, but I admit this arrangement works far better for both our houses.”

  
“We will be supplied the Ironwood from the Foresters directly for our ships and shields and also extend our protection against the Whitehills and any other enemies Robb is unable to protect them from.” It was smart, Tywin was turning the Starks own bannerman against him. Feeding off the vulnerability of those left at their keeps. 

  
“And you so happily agreed to this betrothal?” Jaime asked. Knowing his brothers aversion to marriage since his last. He hadn’t thought their father would actually ever manage a decent betrothal for Tyrion. 

He knew what this was about, alliance and continuing their family line. Cersei was fighting every match that their father presented her, and he wanted more grandchildren to ensure their house’s line, his line most importantly. Tywin’s legacy could not be hoped to be held by Joffrey. The boy was a god awful king, even with Tywin guiding him. 

“Father is giving me no choice.” 

“Do you like her at all?” Jaime asked.

“I do. She’s young, pretty, well mannered and educated for a lady of her station. And when she wants she can be quite daring and clever” Tyrion nodded thinking about his betrothed.

Mira could not be called as beautiful as Margeary, but she was still very pleasantly handomse, with a long, straight nose, big brown eyes, dark hair and a slim figure. She was by no measure ugly or undesirable and her company was enjoyable during the times they had spoken. She had much to learn, but as her husband he would simply have to teach her about what being his wife would mean, especially a Lannister wife. It would be difficult, but he believed she would be capable of pleasing his father's expectations. He after all did pick her himself. 

“It’s a very respectable marriage.”

  
“At least you familiar with one another on some degree. It will save you some awkwardness in the future.” Jaime said, thinking of his brothers happiness.

  
“Yes, I suppose it will.” he nodded, but his mind was obviously elsewhere.

Jaime frowned. “You fell in love again, didn’t you?”

  
“I did. But we said our goodbyes awhile ago.” he said, smiling sadly. “I miss her, she was so funny. She saw the world for it’s worst yet she still managed to take in and appreciate all it’s pleasures.”

  
“It was a whore wasn’t it?” Jaime sighed with frustration, having gone down this road before. “If father had found out--”

  
“He didn’t and never will. I will wed Mira and that is where my future will be, with her and our children though my heart will always be with my Shae.”

  
“Shae!?” Jaime exclaimed.

  
“The maid that was with Sansa!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did anyone else guess that I've watched the TellTale Games?


	26. 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter starts not too long after the last one ended, still with Tyrion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit short, sorry about that, but to make up for it I'll be posting another chapter right after this one.   
> Since Tyrion is still going to be playing a major role later on, I feel that it's important I catch you up on whats going on with him and the happenings of Kings Landing from time to time as needed.

Tyrion never thought this day would come again when he would marry. But there he stood, in the sept, the Great Septon with him and his family below and all their guests. He took a breath as the doors opened, sunlight shown in and his betrothed walked in, escorted by Tywin himself who had been given written custody of her. Joffrey had wanted to do it himself, but Tywin had managed to take that pleasure away from him and spare both the woman who was to be his aunt and Tyrion his harassment.    
Mira was beautiful, her gown was white silk and lace trim, modest yet stunning. He imagined it was a gift from Lady Margaery. Her hair was up in one, simple twist and a small headdress lace and pearl. Truly his bride was of the North.

He should be happy to be so fortunate to have such a woman as his wife, he was doing his family proud, would continue the legacy his father was always going on about. But though Tyrion knew he could never have had this moment with Shae, he still thought of her. Then, Mira looked up and she smiled.

Though unplanned, even unwanted, she smiled at him with kindness and even some affection. She did now frown or even grimace to see her dwarf husband-to-be standing before her, waiting, realizing this was not a bad dream. 

Tywin and Mira reached Tyrion, and though now up close he could see Mira wanervousse and shaking, she extended her hand to him. He stared at her, amazed for a moment, before taking it and they went up the steps to the Septon. 

As they reached him they turned at footsteps following them to see Joffrey, who without a word smiled at his uncle and took the step that he was going to use to put on Mira’s bride cloak. In the crowd, Bronn shook his head and both Tywin and Cersei pinched their eyes close.

No one said what they were all thinking, even the people who didn’t like Tyrion.

  
_ Cunt.  _ Fucking Joffrey.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” The septon began the ceremony.

Tyrion looked flustered that the means to do just that was taken from him. But Mira decided to spare him the humiliation. She grabbed her gown, adjusted it and leaned down for Tyrion without being asked.

  
“Thank you, my lady.” he whispered. 

“Of course, my lord.” she smiled kindly, and staying where she was, at his level looked to the septon to continue.

  
Everyone stared. She was not standing back up?

Mira eyed the septon to get on with it and after clearing his throat awkardly did so.

  
“Your grace, my lords, my ladies. We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife.” the old man spoke and leaned forward to wrap the wedding ribbon around their hands.

  
“Let it be know that Mira of  house Forrester and Tyrion of House Lannister are one heart, one soul, one flesh and cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” and looked to them to continue their part.

“With this kiss I pledge my love, I am yours and you are mine, now and forever.” Mira went first for him. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, I am yours and you are mine, now and forever.” Tyrion said after a swallow.

  
The two shared, in front of hundreds, their very first kiss. The guests all clapped politely and were happy to proceed to the feast that followed the ceremony. 

Inside the banquet hall, Mira watched with hurt and disappointment as Tyrion filled his glass to the very brim with wine, grinning as not a drop spilled over.

“Is it your plan to be drunk all through the night?” she asked him, voice quiet. “I understand this is not the match you may have hoped would one day be made for you but---”

  
“I don’t drink because I am displeased with you, Lady Mira---”

  
“Please, we’re married now. You can simply call me Mira.” she frowned.

“Mira,” he tested her name on his lips. “I’m not drinking because of you.”

  
“Than what has you so upset that you feel you need to be drunk for our wedding feast?

“Spite my dear, it’s spite.” he explained, already beginning to get a slur.

“The fact is I don’t know why you're not drinking. I would think you would be the most unhappy out of the two of us regarding this arrangement.”

  
“It’s not that I don’t enjoy wine, you know that already, it’s just that I am not entirely unhappy. My family will be protected by, a trade agreement for our ironwood has been written and signed, and my husband is a kind and clever man.” she had a light speaking voice, her voice pleasantly soft it near lulled him to sleep for a moment.

“I’m not as kind as you think, Mira” Tyrion sighed and drank from his full glass, some spilling.

  
“Maybe not, but your kinder than others and in this place, that’s more than I can hope for.” she said and turned as a drunken knight came and asked her for a dance. She politely accpeted, leaving her husband for a while. 

  
“You got yer’self a good one, right there, maybe you can send one of her pretty friends my way.” Bronn came over, taking a seat beside him and pouring himself a glass of Tyrion’s wine. 

“But you might want to drink a little less if you plan to fuck her tonight.”

  
“I am so glad you make it to my wedding, Bronn” Tyrion said, humorless. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” he grinned and raised his glass.

  
“To your pretty bride.” Bronn toasted. “And to the hope your brats have your snark and her height.”

Tyrion had near forgotten about that, the chance he might have a dwarf child. He looked at his father, wondering if he had at all thought about that possibility. If he did, what would happen, what would his father do. He had told him once, family came before anything, admitted that after he was born he thought of throwing Tyrion into the sea but had not. Because he was still a Lannister.

Had Mira thought about this?

  
He looked for his wife. She was twirling in some Lords Arms, her smile polite but body stiff. He was clearly making her uncomfortable.

  
“Podrick, why don’t you ask my wife for a dance. It’s my weddding I want you to enjoy it. When you're done, bring her back to the table, will you?” He looked at his squire.

  
“Yes, M’ Lord.” and Pod rushed off. 

The boy blushed through the whole dance which Mira seemed to find charming. She took his arm like a lord when he escorted her back to the head table, which made him go uncomfortably stiff, unused to such interactions with a lady. 

The rest of the evening went relatively joyous, as a wedding feast should be until it came time for the bedding, which Joffrey insisted and made a scene about the bedding ceremony. Tyrion had no plans of such a thing happening, and he had been ready to outright threaten the king when his wife stepped in.

“It’s alright. I’m ok with it.” she mouthed to him before forcing a smile and alowing King Joffrey to be the first to slip the straps of her gown from his shoulders.

For once Tyrion didn’t enjoy having multiple women take off his clothes. Both were lifted, poked and groped all the way to their bed where they were deposited and left alone. Nude, both looked at one another awkwardly before Tyrion allowed himself to take in his wifes body.

“You drank quite a bit, can you still---”she nodded, but didn’t look, towards his already hardening cock.

“Yes.” he croaked. “That won’t be a problem at all. But we don’t have to, not tonight if you don’t--”

  
Mira didn’t let him continue and pressed a chaste kiss to quite his argument.

“I know that you are quite experienced, I hope I don’t disappoint you.” she said, laying on her back and bring Tyrion on top of her.

“You won’t.” he smiled sympathetically, unable to imagine the pressure a woman in her position must feel. “I promise, I’ll make you feel good.”

  
And he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTS ARE LOVE! COMMENTS ARE INSPIRATION! COMMENTS CAN MEAN FASTER UPDATES!


	27. 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Sansa and Drogo.

Drogo watched his wife with Dany. Sansa’s dogs surrounded them in a near perfect circle, the pack looking relaxed in the grass but on alert, ears shifting and noses twitching with any new or unfamiliar scent or sound. They were the watchers, not far were a few Dothraki screamers, cleaning or sharpening their weapons, eyes looking up now and then at those that might chance walking by.

Sansa was trying to teach Dany needle work. Dany hadn’t suitable clothes, just a few gowns Illyrio had given her. They were not suitable at all, and the seams were splitting. Sansa was putting together some Dothraki leather for her, Irri helping. Dany was fine with the handed downs of Irri or the other girls and insisted Sansa didn’t need to share any of her own clothes. Though Sansa preferred her gowns, Dany, like Arya was happier in a pair of trousers or rough skirts of Dothraki cotton skirts. 

But though Sansa didn’t dress in Dothraki clothes, she wore her hair like one near all the time now. His wife had trembled so much after they had crushed that man's leg, but she did her best to hide it. She had never been so cruel before, so violent. It had shocked her, but she knew that it was what he had deserved. Still, a part of her felt terrible for it. At least because of this small man she had spoken of.

Viserys continued to skulk around, a pest to all. Jorah the Andal was kind enough to attempt to keep the boy away from him altogether, knowing he had nothing better to do than complain about his people, his customs, and that they were not marching to the sea yet. Most of all, he didn’t like the way he stared at his wife. 

Her pregnancy had only done to increase the appeal of her body. Her breast had certainly grown some and he spent much of their fucking with his face in them. He wondered if they would stay that full after the baby was gone from her belly. He had liked her tits before, but he liked them even more now. And so did Viserys. 

So far he kept only his eyes on her and nothing else, but if he continued to be so obvious about it, he would have to pluck those eyes from his head. He warned Jorah of this.

  
But though he made such threats his eyes also admired his sister with the same feelings of lust. Daenerys was beautiful, shorter but fuller than Sansa. She took to the Dothraki even quicker than Sansa, learning the language and customs. She didn’t like the fights, the blood but she didn’t look away from it even though she had no reason to force herself to like Sansa had. She had a fire in her, that was sure. 

But he did not see that fire in Viserys who Sansa wanted him to fight with. If not for her own qualms, her own family, he would not have considered giving his army to Viserys. There was no reward, no meaning or victory if the fight for a sniveling cunt like him. He was no king, no leader of any kind. He could point a sword at anyone, didn’t mean he knew how to fight. The boy had probably never killed a man in his life. 

No matter, he agreed to fight in his name but Drogo would not go into war before his son was born, then, after he would sell his slaves and buy the ships they needed to sail the poison water back to his wife's, and their guests, country. 

Drogo had begun to wonder if Sansa had more affection for the Dragon woman than he. She spent most of her days with her and it felt that he only saw her at night anymore.

“Are you, the great Khal Drogo, becoming jealous?” Sansa had teased him one evening under the stars, the two have decided to take a swim in the spring that they had camped next to. Her body had glistened in the light of the moon, on her knees in the shallows, kissing down his stomach to his cock. 

“A Khal does not get jealous. But should I worry that you might stray?” he asked, his voice a deep gravelly sound. 

  
Sansa gave him a sharp, cold look and bit hard into the thin skin at his hip.

  
“A Khaleesi does not stray. Do I find her desirable, yes.” She answered honestly, tongue gently lapping over her bite mark. “But I find many women desirable, as you know.”

She had said and then took his cock into her mouth, empowered by the sharp inhale he took through his nose. 

The truth was that she felt more than just desire for Dany. It wasn’t just her body that she was drawn to, but the girl's honest character. As she took the time to purposefully get to know her, get close to her, Sansa found herself not just wanting to be a companion and confidant for the other and more than just something as simple as a friend.

When she felt Drogo’s balls grow tight in her palm, she pulled her mouth off and slid up his body, stroking his cock until he came in the water. 

  
“I want her too,” he grunted.

  
“She’s not like the slaves or dancers, we can’t just invite her into our bed without consequence,” she told him as he put her on the bank of the stream, his cock had not wilted the slightest after cumming only once. She spread her legs for him and he slotted himself between her thighs, lining up his cock and sliding home inside of her.

“I told them my brother would marry her, we can’t have her.” she said, taking a sharp breath and thrust inside of her, her back arching. 

“But we both know she will never be your brothers, not unless his wife dies.” he said with another powerful thrust and she shuddered.

“I would not wish that on him, or my good-sister.” she said breathlessly, rolling her hips to meet him and she moaned loudly when her brought his thumb to her pink bud. Her belly just above finally already large, her pregnancy reaching its sixth moon shortly.

“Then I will take her as my wife,” he said, grabbing her hip, pushing all the way inside of her and releasing his seed. 

“What?” Sansa gasped, so close to her orgasm, but the shock of his words have taken her from the edge of reaching her pleasure.

“A khal can have more than one wife, I never thought of having more than just you, though there was some talk--”

  
“Talk?” Sansa balked, getting to her feet and bare naked in front of him.

  
“What talk?” it was the first Sansa had heard of this.

  
“Some did not like you are foreigner, some of my men suggest taking a second, Dothraki wife.”

“I’ll have their tongues cut out for their disrespect.” She said in rash anger. “I know some disapproved, but to outright say you should take another while you have me---”

  
Drogo smirked, watching his angry, nude wife pace in rage. 

“We both want her, and you won’t have to worry about your brothers wife and that cunt will still have my warriors.--”

  
“I don’t think it can me that simple.” Sansa sighed, wishing it could be. She grabbed her dressing gown and returned to their tent before Drogo. 

Shae and Irri were waiting for her. They brushed her hair, dried and dressed her body and asked if she was hungry or thirsty for anything. She wasn’t, but Shae had the other girls bring her heapings of food and encouraging her to eat something. Sansa did as she was told. For her baby.

  
“Is Jommi doing well with Dany?” Sansa asked. She had gone to the girl and offered her the position of taking care of Dany, remembering her from months back when she had saved her from the lecherous hands of those Lannister soldiers. 

“Yes, Khaleesi.” Irri answered. 

“Good.” Sansa said and ate her food. When she was done she pushed her plate away and took a seat in a more comfortable, cushioned wicker chair. She took her unfinished project from the one side of the chair and the material from the other and began to get back to work. 

She was making a bassinet for her baby, using willow. It was much harder than she had thought. It took a great deal of strength and control to weave the willow and make sure not to break it. She spent an hour or so everyday on it, slowly working on it and getting it ready for her baby boy who had made her stomach fat. She had to let out so many of her dresses, the silk starting to stretch with the growth of the baby inside her. 

She knew he would be dark skinned, tan like his father, but she wondered about in his eyes and hair, would they be dark just like Drogo? Would there be any of her in their color, would anyone at all be able to tell it was hers with just a look?

She wondered so many things about her baby, about the world and life he would live. A stallion and a direwolf, what a man he would become.

“Oh!” Sansa suddenly jolted in her chair.

  
“What is it!?” her handmaidens asked, rushing to her.

“Get the Khal, he kicked, I just felt him move!” Sansa declared, practically throwing her work aside to put both hands flat against her, belly searching for that feeling again.

“Hurry, I want him to feel this!” she shouted at Irri who ran from the tent. 

Sansa but her lip, hoping to feel him move again, but he was still. Oh, she didn’t want it to be over already. 

She looked up as Drogo came bursting into her tent, he looked into her eyes and than at her belly. She beckoned him over and he fell to his knees at her feet. She took his hands and placed them on her belly where she had felt her son move.

“Come on, kick again for mother.” she pleaded softly. “Let your father feel that strong kick.”

  
Minutes passed, and Sansa started to worry it wouldn’t happen again even as Drogo patiently waited. The it happened again, she saw it on her husbands face when he felt his child give his palm a soft nudge.

“That’s our boy, that's our son!” she nearly started to cry. It as such a strange and overwhelming feeling, of something alive moving inside of her. 

“Moon of my life, you have done well!” Drogo said to her, keeping his hands where they were. 

Sansa laughed and took his face in her hands and kissed him. 

“My sun and stars.” she pressed her forehead to his and they stayed that way, feeling every move that their child made before he had finally settled down completely, not feeling another stir.They spent the rest of the night in each other arms, hands always on Sansa’s belly, over there child. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I feel like I've been updating pretty frequently as of late and I'm not trying to throw myself off but I think I'm gonna take some time away from this story, Like Maybe a week or two. Catch up on GOT the show, try writing something new that's been stuck in my head.  
> Don't freak out, this story will continue, I am no where near jumping this ship,


	28. 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I fell in love with my own pairing.   
> I can't get enough of writing Mira and Tyrion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God damn it, I said I was going to take a break but I just couldn't get this chapter out of my head so I figured I might as well write it while the writing was good.   
> Seriously though, I really want to take a break from this for like a week or two and work on another story.

Tyrion could not deny Margaery was a very suitable queen, she was clever, patient and with a superior mind for politics. The people loved her and in extension began to love Joffrey. A near impossible feat. She was able to praise him like no one else, convincing men and children that he was the hero, the king that fought off Stannis's and saved them all and they didn’t question it. Even Tywin approved. 

Tyrion had once thought, that if Joffrey only had the sense to love Sansa, she would have made a stunning queen as well. She was beautiful, charming and sweet. She could have had the people in her palm as well if she had the same opportunities as Margaery.

But the greatest difference between Sansa and Margaery was that the latter could manipulate Joffrey like no other person could. Not even his mother. Cersei was right whens he said she had her thorns in Joffrey, but if she could see past her own pride and protectiveness, Cersei just might realize that wasn’t something to be worried about. 

Between Tywin himself and Margaery, the two might make a half decent king of Joffrey yet, and if she was so fortunate to have a son it would not be Joffrey raising the boy but his mother and great grandfather. And if Tywin managed to teach that child anything significant before his eventual death that the next king would be adored and feared, he would be wise and kind, the embodiment of the perfect leader. Finally, the kingdom might have a decent king.

But the future was long ways away still, and Joffrey was still the king that they needed to guide and protect. If only the boy wasn’t such a rotten, little shit, they might have made more progress than they have so far. But Margaery was doing wonders for his image.

Guests were already arriving for the Kings wedding, which was still more than a month away. The planning and preparations had taken a number of months to get done. It was the king's wedding, the affair had to be the most memorable, and grand event the kingdoms would remember. Most of all, a royal wedding was a perfect affair to distract the small folk and nobles alike from the war, marriage, the thought of an heir being announced soon after, gave hope to the people. Even if the heir was Joffrey’s.

“Let me come with you?” Mira asked.

Tyrion had been given the responsibility of being ambassador to the Dornish Prince who was meant to be arriving that afternoon with their niece.

“I’ll be going with Bronn and the wait might be awhile, I wouldn’t want you to be in his company too long.” he teased and smiled at her, closing his ledger.  

  
Mira, who was no longer a handmaiden had thrown away her handmaiden gowns. Now she wore gowns with tight sleeves and high necklines though the back was left open. Tyrion liked her back, the pale skin, the two moles she had, one on her shoulder blade and the other right on her delicate, elegant spine.

  
“Ser Bronn is not that terrible,” she said, though she had spent very few moments with the sellsword herself. 

“Oh, yes he is.” Tyrion chuckled.

“I am your wife, Tyrion, we should do these things together.” She touched his cheek and put her needle work down. 

She had such pretty eyes. They were somewhere between green and blue, depending on the light.

“Yes, you are my wife.” he nodded and smiled. 

Mira sighed and then looked nervously around. “The truth is, I don’t like being alone here all my friend's service Lady Margaery, they have no time for me  and….”

“I don’t feel safe.” she told him. 

Tyrion frowned at this admittance.

“Has someone threatened you?” he asked very seriously, taking her hand. “If so you must tell me.”

  
“No. No one has threatened me, but I know how dangerous this place is. Please, don’t leave me alone.” her eyes pleaded with him, her fingers tight around his.

“Alright.” he sighed. “You may come with me to greet the prince.”

“Thank you, Tyrion.” Mira beamed and kissed his cheek, standing from her seat to walk out their chambers.

On their way out of the Red Keep, they found the Queen Regent waiting for them.

“Your Grace,” Mira curtsied.

  
“Sister.” Cersei corrected with no real affection. Her cat like eyes fell on her brother.

“Don’t come back without Myrcella.” she warned him, before retreating with her knights. “If they don’t have her, if they didn’t bring her with them---”

  
The threat fell unsaid but with no less weight. 

  
“The Martells would be fools not to after she wrote to you herself.” he said.

  
Cersei didn’t say anything else and stormed away with her knights to wait for her daughter. Their Uncle Kevan had already arrived weeks ago with Tommen and Tywin was very happy with how his education was proceeding. 

The couple continued outside of the walls of the castle with Podrick behind them with the Lannister banner and a number of city watch men. Bronn walked beside Tyrion.

“Mira, may I ask you something?” Tyrion spoke after a long silence.

“Of course.” She said in that sweet, soft voice of hers.

  
“If our son our daughter…” he swallowed, unsure if he really should ask. It may just upset his wife and put her off the idea completely.

“Yes?” she encouraged.

  
“If our son or daughter is a born a dwarf, would you hate them...hate me. And be honest.” he looked up at her as they continued to walk but Mira stopped. 

  
She got bent so she was level and looked him right in the eye. 

“I can’t speak for your mother,” she told him, knowing his story. “But I can tell you all women know the risks we face in the birthing bed.”

“I want to believe that your mother would have loved you, but the truth is I don’t know how she would have felt about you if she had lived if she could have held you in her arms and looked into your eyes.” she told him.

“All I know is no matter if my child is a dwarf or not and I get to live to see them, I will never hate them,” she promised him and kissed him softly. When she put some space between them she saw that his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “And if I die on the birthing bed, I want you to make sure they know that.”

“And if I die on the birthing bed, I want you to make sure they know that.”

“My lady, you are too good for me.” Tyrion gave a huff.

  
“No, I think we're just right for each other.” she grinned and stood again.

“Now, where are we meant to meet the prince?” Mira went on as if they hadn’t had a very deep conversation and Tyrion was thankful for it, and the fact that Bronn was actually polite enough for once to keep his mouth shut

The spent hours waiting on the road and Bronn made sure to complain about it as he sat on a rock by a tree and drank from his flask.

A man with a goat walked by and Bronn spoke up. 

  
“How many Dornishman does it take to fuck a goat?” he asked, looking up the road after the man and goat.

  
Podrick sighed, looking annoyed and uncomfortable as he was most of the time with Bronn.

  
“Please don't.” Tyrion interrupted him from continuing. 

“Seems to me, the smart place to meet travelers is in a tavern. That way if one is late, the other can drink some ale inside.”

“This is the prince of Dorne we’re waiting for, not one of your sellsword friends,” Tyrion explained, switching his weight from one leg to the other.

“If he’s so damn important, why did they send you to meet ‘im?” Bronn asked, raising a brow.

“There's bad blood between the Martells of Dorne and the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, has been for years.” was Tyrion vague reasoning.

  
“Ah, so just in case the Martells are looking to spill some Lannister blood, it might as well be yours, eh?”

Mira paled beside Tyrion and he patted her hip. 

  
“Now, now, no need to scare my lady wife. I happen to be an accomplished diplomat.” Tyrion said, pushing his shoulders back.

  
“Oh,” Bronn said with a little nod as if he completely believed that.

“Ah, here we go!” Tyrion perked up as he saw and heard the hooves of a dozen or more horses approached.

  
“Can you see the sigils?” Tyrion asks Bronn, who leaned in and squinted into the distance. 

“Yellow balls?” Bronn guessed.

Tyrion made a face that made Mira laugh.

“Wild lemons on a purple field. House Dalt of Lemonwood.” Podrick corrected and Bronn stood, trying to see better.

  
“A vulture grabbing a baby in its talons. House Blackmont.”

“A white skull with a golden crown over a black field. House Manwoody.”

  
“The boy knows his Dornish houses.” Tyrion praised.

“I need a sigil.” Bronn said.

“Perhaps a flask pierced with a sword, over a black sea. You are after all Bronn of the Blackwater, correct.” Mira recommended.

“I like that.” Bronn grinned at her. 

“The Martells is a red sun with a golden spear through it on an orange field,” Tyrion said to Podrick.

“I don’t see it, My Lord.” Podrick shook his head. 

That wasn’t very good. Tyrion thought to himself.

The first of the party reached them and Tyrion stepped forward, Mira with him, bowing their heads in respective greeting.

  
“Well met, my lords. I welcome you in the name of Your Grace King Joffrey. My Lord Father, the king's hands, sends his greetings as well. I am Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock, master of coin and this is my wife Mira of Ironrath.”

  
“It’s our honor, my lords.” Mira curtsied. 

  
The two men leading the group, lords of House Dalt, remained silent and looked at them unimpressed. Tyrion continued to smile though as did Mira. 

  
“Forgive me, I don’t see Prince Doran in your company or my niece.” he brought to attention.

“The prince's health forces him to remain at Sunspear. He sent his brother, Prince Oberyn, to attend the royal wedding in his stead.” one of the men answered.

  
Mira noticed that her husband looked quite unsettled by this news.

“Yes, the King will be delighted to enjoy the company of a warrior as renowned as Prince Oberyn at his wedding feast.” Tyrion carefully recovered.

  
“Will he now?” The man asked, looking doubtful. 

  
“Yes.” Tyrion nodded. “And, um, my niece where is she?” 

  
He was more nervous about her whereabouts than he was the Prince.

  
“The princess Myrcella is in a litter, not far behind us if you wish to see her.” The other told them and Tyrion gave a notable, relieved sigh.

  
“Yes, if you don’t mind. I have missed my niece greatly.” 

  
“Not at all.” the same made said, shouting the word to some of the men behind him.

  
Podrick stayed where he was, but Mira and Bronn went with Tyrion. 

The litter was well guarded and the men eyed Tyrion before knocking on the door of the litter and announcing them. The door swung open and the beautiful face of Myrcella appeared, her green eyes staring happily at her uncle.

  
“Uncle Tyrion!” she cried, stepping out of the litter. He took her hands and kissed the tops of both of them. 

  
“Sweet niece you have grown taller and more beautiful,” he told her, so happy himself to see she was indeed well. “Your mother has missed you a great deal.”

  
“And I’ve missed her.” she told him, and then noticed Mira.

  
“Uncle, how impolite of you to not have introduced us.” she chastised and smiled at Mira.

“Ah, yes, my apologies. Myrcella, this is my wife Mira of House Forrester.” he quickly remedied his impoliteness. “Mira, this is my darling niece, Princess Myrcella of House Baratheon and Lannister.”

“The honor is mine, Princess.” Mira bowed.

  
“Oh none of that, we’re family. Family should not bow to each other.” She said and touched Mira’s shoulder to have her stand tall again.

  
“Oh uncle, I am so happy for you,” Myrcella told him with genuine congratulation.

“Thank you Myrcella. Now, best get back in your litter, your mother is waiting for you and I must find Prince Oberyn,” he said.

  
“You may want to check the brothels, Prince Oberyn and his paramour much enjoy to keep such company,” she said without a blush and went back inside her litter. But then she opened the window and looked at him.

“Uncle, have you heard anything from Sansa?” Myrcella asked hopefully.

  
“No.” he shook his head sadly. “Not directly.”

  
“Do you think she is well?” he asked her. 

  
“Yes,” he smiled and hearing that so did Myrcella. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm thinking my next story, the one in my head is going to be another rare pairing involving Sansa. Does anyone want to take a guess?


	29. 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Sansa bond a little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh darn it, I want to write something new but I keep going back to this!

“Khaleesi has come.” Jommi announced and then held the opening for Sansa.

“Lady Sansa, thank you for breaking your fast with me.” Dany smiled using the etiquette that she was taught.

“We’ve been over this, _you_ can just call me Sansa.” the red haired woman smiled. That morning she was wearing a simple, cotton blue gown with a plunging neckline, giving her now bountiful breasts some air and just under them, making them looked pushed up. Under her, Sansa wore a knitted waist apron, that she made herself. The material fell over the shape of her large belly.

That morning she was wearing a simple, cotton blue gown with a plunging neckline, giving her now bountiful breasts some air and just under them, making them looked pushed up. Under her, Sansa wore a knitted waist apron, that she made herself. The material fell over the shape of her large belly.

  
She walked into the tent, tracing the shape, looking at the few things Dany had. She stopped in front of the eggs, three, candles burning in the space around them inside the trunk, warming them.  “They’re beautiful.”

  
“Would you like to hold one?” Dany came up to her side, and Sansa looked at her surprised.

“Truly, you would let me?” she asked, looking at them.

  
Dany nodded and took the green one from its crib. She cradled it in her palms and Sansa cupped her own hands, letting Dany gently, like giving over a child, put it into her hands.

Sansa felt it’s weight. She thought they would be light, hollow, but she could feel the density beneath the shell. Something was sitting inside. She must have looked so strange when she lifted the egg and pressed her ear to it. The scaled shells were warm from the candle flames against her cheek.

Dany stared at the woman before her, pregnant and radiant, she couldn’t take her eyes off of her. Dany has seen a number of beautiful woman, whores, ladies, the lovers of her hosts, but no woman had ever stirred such a feeling inside her like the one she got when she looked at the Stark girl. For a moment, the same moment Sansa held her breath, as if to be absolutely silent so she might hear something inside the egg, Dany desperately wanted to lean up and kiss the other woman. The look Sansa gave her stopped her though, it was apologetic as if she knew how Dany hoped that she might sense some life in them as she did.

Sansa lowered the egg and caught sight of her bulging stomach and remembered something.

  
“I read once, Dragons laid clutches of at least five eggs at a time. I wonder where the rest of their siblings are.” Sansa said.

  
“Do you know much about dragons?” Dany asked, taking out the black one and sitting with it in her lap in front of the coals.

“By brother, Bran, he loved reading about dragons, he was utterly fascinated by them. Sometimes he wouldn’t go sleep unless someone read him a page from one of the few books about them,” she told her, remembering how high her brother used to climb as if he just needed to get high enough to be a dragon himself.

“Dragonstone, where you were born, had hatcheries beneath its mountain.” she told her.

“Have you ever seen it?” Dany asked and Sansa shook her head.

  
“No. The only places I’ve ever been is Winterfell, the capital and what I travel every day here,” she told her and Dany watched as a haunted look began to cast a shadow across Sansa’s expression.

  
“I used to spend hours in our gods wood, praying to be anywhere but home, to see far, beautiful places. I was a fool.” she shook her head and tears prickled her eyes.

“I dreamed of going home to Winterfell, and when I finally had the chance I turned away from it.”

  
“What?” Dany gave a soft, surprised gasp. “Why?”

  
“Because I was happy, I was forgetting all the terrible things that I had left behind, I was forgetting the war my family was fighting and I made my home here, with Drogo. But then Jaime Lannister came, then you, and I remembered again what I left behind and felt ashamed of myself.” she wiped tears quickly from her eyes.

“I said it to you before, why should I be safe and comfortable when my family isn’t. Once again I was becoming selfish. So I’m glad you came because I don’t want to be that selfish girl again who only thinks about herself. That girl got my father killed.” another tear streaked down her face.

“What happened?” Dany asked gently.

“I was going to marry the prince, King Robert himself asked for the match and I couldn’t have thought of any greater honor.” she told her. “Me, a girl from the North, and I would be queen one day.”

  
“I was so enthralled in the dream of it, everything so perfect my mind that I couldn’t see the reality in front of me. How cruel Joffrey was, how terrible the queen was, even after they killed my direwolf, a creature that felt like it was born of my own soul,” she ran her hand over the scales of the egg. That was how Dany felt about these petrified eggs.

  
“I hated my father who couldn’t convince the king to spare her and I devoted myself to the people who gave the order to kill her. I just kept thinking, once we were married I would be a part of the most powerful house in all of Westeros and they would love and accept me. But the truth was, they hated me, since the moment they rode into Winterfell.” Sansa swallowed the lump growing in her throat.

  
She was even more emotional since the baby got bigger.

“I was so stupid. I love my husband, I love my Khalasar and the baby growing in me, but sometimes I wish I could go back to that day and scream at myself ‘Don’t go you, idiot!’.”

Dany was silent.

“Westeros isn’t going to be what you or your brother hope.” Sansa told her.

  
“It’s my home.” Dany weakly argued.

  
Sansa smiled sadly, sympathetically.

“It’s a place as foreign to you as Essos is to me.” she told her. “A dirt which your feet has never even touched.”

“The iron throne is my brother's birthright…” a brave, ambitious look shaped her face. “and mine.”

“Yet you know nothing of it’s history or it’s people.” Sansa shook her head and stood, going to the trunk she gently laid her egg next to the other. “Or even the Keep in which you were born.”

  
Sansa rubbed her hands over her belly and smiled at Dany. “But don’t worry. I’ll teach you.”

Sansa took a seat on some cushions by the food laid out, looking at Dany expectantly to join her. After all, she had been the one to invite her to break fast.

Once they had eaten, the two reclined comfortably against the pillows, Jommi fanning them.

  
“My Septa was always testing me at random times, to see if I remembered my lessons.” she told Dany, propped up on cushions and pillows galore.

“Now, where to start.”

Sansa spent the entire day with Dany, going over all the houses of Westeros, some of the more important things to know about each of their histories and what part they were currently playing.  But as the day continued, Sansa found herself yawning and nodding off in the middle of the lessons she herself was trying to teach until finally, Dany heard soft, even breathing next to her and saw Sansa had fallen asleep completely.

She didn’t bother waking her.

“Babies takes energy to carry, Khaleesi needs more rest,” Irri explained and continued in her broken Common tongue. “She tries to do much she not needs to.”

Irri tutted but smiled fondly as she cleaned up after their last small snack.

“Sansa is what some would call an over achiever.” Shae, Dany remembered. The woman, though her accent was someplace in Essos, had come with Sansa from Westeros. Her lady in waiting and greatest friend. She guarded Sansa as much as her wild dogs did.

“A whore I met once while in the capital that had come from Sansa’S home of Winterfell, said that Sansa was a lady by 3 years old and her father had the bells rung from her first cry into the night,” Shae told them.

Then she laughed a little. “She’s very easy to love once she stops acting like a brat.”

Shae looked at Dany meaningfully and smirked deviously.

“She’s also quite the lover.” she winked.

Dany blinked, momentarily stunned by this confession.

“Shush, you should not speak of such things about Khaleesi.” Irri chastised.

“Your people fuck in broad daylight in front of everyone, there is no place for modesty here.” Shae scoffed.

“Sansa’s maiden head intact for the Khal, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t fuck each other numb on that boring sail here.” Shae rolled her eyes. “Someone had to teach her what to do with that flower between her legs.”

“You could do with a good fucking, Irri.” Shae turned as if that was the brightest idea she ever had. “You're as tight as sailors knot.”

This time Irri rolled her eyes. “I fuck plenty.”

“When with who?” Shae integrated.

“Who ever I want. When I’m not with Khaleesi.” Irri was purposefully vague as possible.

Shae didn’t look convinced.

Irri looked at Sansa who stirred to move but didn’t actually wake.

  
“Few more moons and baby will be born.” she touched a hand to her Khaleesi’s belly, feeling small movement, imagining the great, strong baby that would be born to the Khal and Khaleesi.

“Will we be arriving soon?” Dany asked getting up and walking back to her eggs. Her brother was becoming more agitated every day. He had said to when no one was around to hear he might have to cut the baby from Sansa if it meant they could move on and start sailing to Westeros.

  
“Yes, another nine days, maybe till we reach the mother of mountains. We moved faster than thought with Khaleesi and the baby.” Irri told her.

“She’ll have a boy,” Dany said and touched the black egg. “And more after that.”

“That's what everyone hopes.” said Shae.

Dany shook her head. No, it wasn't hoped, it was what she knew.

She had a dream last night. It was strange yet so very clear. Sansa stood in a hall of ice in a castle made of snow with three little boys, two standing next to her, one holding another smaller boy and held to Sansa’s breast was another, genderless babe swaddled in fur.

In front of them a man with a mountain rising on the metal of it’s back lay dying and in Sansa’s hand she held a blade. A purple viper with venom dripping from its fangs was wrapped around the wrist of the hand that held the steel.

“I wonder what she’ll name him?” it was a mystery to all but Sansa. Usually, it was the father that held the power to name the child but for the Dothraki, it was up to the mother to decide a good, suitable name by the time of the ceremony. One of the few privileges allowed to Dothraki women that weren’t part of the Dosh Khaleen.

  
“I worry Khaleesi will not be able to keep the heart down.” Irri sighed.

  
Dany turned around, not familiar with the particular phrasing. “Heart down?”

  
“She has to eat a stallion's heart. They believe that eating the raw heart of a stallion during pregnancy will make a Khals son strong, swift and fearless.” Shae said, not very comfortable or approving of the idea.

Irri took over explaining. “But only if Khaleesi can eat entire heart. If she chokes on the blood or retches up flesh, omens less favorable.” she shook her head. “Most do not do ceremony so far along with baby. She might not be able to eat all of it.”

Irri worried.

  
“She’ll keep it down.” A deep voice rumbled and they looked to see the Khal enter the tent. Irri and Jommi quickly fell to their knees before him.

“Khal!” he didn’t look at them and went to kneel by his wife.

“Is she well?” he asked Irri in Dothraki, but Jorah had been teaching her and Dany could understand most of what they said now.

“Very.” Irri nodded. “She is just tired. We have been riding for much longer.”

  
“We must if we are to get to Vaes Dothrak before son comes.” he reminded her. Even he had been surprised she had fallen pregnant so quickly and would have been suspicious if she had fucked another before him if he hadn’t felt his own cock spear through the wall of her virginity.

“She carries well.” Jorah, who had come as well with the Khal, said.

  
“Not many mothers could stand to ride horseback as she has.” he commented on Sansa’s strength and will.

  
“She knows Khaleesi belongs on a horse, by Khals side.” Drogo grinned at his friend.

  
Jorah gave a half smile and nodded. “You have a strong woman, my friend.”

Drogo stood and put a hand on Jorah’s shoulder, as if thanking him for the compliment.

  
Drogo turned and looked as Dany.

  
“Come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter we'll finally be getting some one on one time with Dany and Drogo.


	30. 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drogo offers Dany something tempting.

Dany looked anxiously at Jorah as she followed Drogo out of the tent. He gave her a reassuring smile and nod, and if he believed she was in no danger than she trusted that she wasn’t. 

She followed Drogo for a long while before they stopped at an abandoned fire pit. He took a seat and ordered a slave girl to bring them food. The woman nearly tripped rushing away to do as told. Dany frowned. 

  
“Your brother is no king.” he began in his gruff, deep voice that sent chills through her. His dark eyes were like hot coals as he looked at her.

“He is the rightful king of the Seve-” she cleared her throat. “I mean six kingdoms. He is King of the first men and the Andals.” 

  
“Keh!” he waved a hand, not caring about useless titles like those.

“Do you know how Khal becomes Khal?” he asked her.

  
Dany nodded. Jorah had told her.

“To become  _ khal _ , a Dothraki warrior must perform tremendous feats of bravery, daring and martial valor, as well as being ruthless and canny enough to avoid the machinations of his enemies and rivals.” she said as if reading from one of Sansa’s books.

Drogo nodded. “Has your brother done any of these things?”

Dany bit her lip and shook her head.

  
“Do you think he can?” he asked her, leaning forward on his knees, staring deeply into her violet eyes, a color like the wild lavender.

“A Khal is a king, a king need not just be leader but warrior,” he told her, his common tongue getting better and better with both Sansa’s lessons and now Jorah’s. “Your brother is not leader nor warrior, he no king.”

“You gave him your army!” Dany reminded him rather than answering. 

“I gave him nothing. My people are here, on this land, not that one. He has nothing yet until we cross poison water.” he explained.

“But marry me, I give you son and he can be king. I will kill your enemies, destroy lands, and give you crown that you will give to son.”

When he first said it, Dany was sure he must be jesting, but his dark eyes never left hers and she could see it in their depths the honesty of his words. He meant it. What was happening was a genuine offer.  

  
“Why?” she breathed.

  
Khal Drogo grinned and sat up just as the slave brought him a horn of ale. He downed it quickly.

  
“Khaleesi likes you, she dreams of you on dragons,” he told her. “But dragons are all dead.”

_ And what of my dreams?  _ Dany thought, how would he interrupt them and what did it mean that her dreams and Sansa’s seemed to overlap? 

  
“My brother is a dragon, perhaps her dreams meant she was seeing me  _ and  _ him!?” She said thinking of her own dreams of the ones she had of her brother.

Drogo shook his head. “It was just you. You will be great woman she sees.”

Dany wrapped her arms around herself and stared into the hearth. She knew he was right, she had even discussed it with Ser Jorah in length. Her brother did not inspire loyalty or love, he could barely even raise fear in another man. The only one truly scared of him was Dany. 

Viserys would not be a very good king, Dany had agreed with Jorah. But as he had told her in return,

  
There have been worse Kings before him. 

Drogo startled her when his fingers touched her jaw. “You are beautiful, both Khal and the Moon of my life think so, we would like to have you. Be ours, and you’ll be Khaleesi too.”

  
It was so very tempting, so much so that she nearly said yes right away. Instead, she said something that was between a yes and a no.

  
“May I have some time to consider it.”  he didn’t seem thrilled with that answer but he also didn’t try and push her further to accept. 

Daenerys doubted that Sansa was aware of any of this, and she wondered how the woman would feel to know her husband has made her such an offer. Would she be infuriated with her husband, would she hate Dany for catching Drogo’s attention. But then hadn’t he said that Sansa wanted her too, that it wasn't just him who desired her. It wasn’t at all uncommon for a Khal to have multiple wives, nor was it unheard of that he shares his wife of wives with his blood riders. 

At first, Daenerys thought that a Khals blood riders were a kind of Dothraki kings guard, sworn to protect their lord, but it went further than that. They were a Khals brothers, his shadows, his fiercest friends. 

“Blood of my blood.” she heard Drogo call them, and so did Sansa as she was one with her husband.

  
But Drogo did not share Sansa with any of his blood riders. But she wasn’t sure if she would have that same fortune if she accepted to be his second wife.

“If I accepted, you wouldn’t share me, would you?” she looked nervously at the Khal. 

“No.” he told her. 

  
“So I would be  _ only  _ yours and Sansa’s?” she clarified.

  
“Yes.” he answered

  
“I heard, you take other women into your...tent.” she struggled to word the question.

  
“Sansa and I take other women, yes. She likes them, as do I.” he grinned.

  
“If I was yours, if I married you, would you stop if I asked. Could I be enough for you both?” she asked, her voice holding no insecurity but rather a challenge as if asking him.  _ “Do you think you could handle me. Would you devote yourselves to me?” _

Drogo chuckled. Yes, he liked that about her, that spirit that came out on the rarest occasions. She was a mouse at the stallion's feet when she first arrived, now she was a cat, soon he wondered what she would grow to be next.

They spent a little while longer talking, Drogo surprisingly interested in the iron throne, not understanding that word. She explained it was a chair in which a king sat, he laughed and said a king needs no chair, only a horse. 

When Dany finally left Drogo’s company she already knew she would not betray her brother. He was mean, terrible and a fool but he was her blood and she would honor that blood between them. 

When she came to her tent she found it empty but for Jommi. Even Jorah was not there waiting for her. She was about to ask the girl for their whereabouts when her brother came in, looking furious and accusing. 

  
“What did you speak to the savage about?!” he snarled, striking out and grabbing her arm painfully tight in his hand.

He shook her. Had she woken the dragon? But she hadn’t done anything.

“He--he just had questions about Westeros.” she cried out pathetically in front of her brother. She couldn’t possibly tell him the truth of their conversation.

“You're lying as if that Dothraki animal would be capable of such intellectual curiosity.” he grabbed her other arm and jerked her back and forth.

  
“I’m not lying.” she told him.

“We spoke about you becoming king.” she whimpered. He tossed her to the ground.

  
“I am not  _ becoming  _ king, I already am the king.” he spat. His fevered face flushing with his rage.

“You better keep your slut legs closed. It’s no longers Khal Drogo’s happiness that is securing this agreement but that Stark bitch’s.” he warned her. “I will not have you ruin everything by seducing the leader of my army when I’m so close to getting what's mine.”

  
“Yes, Viserys.” Daenerys whimpered rather than denying his accusations any further.

He sneered at her before turning to leave, nearly running into the very pregnant Sansa who was with Ser Jorah and her woman knight Lady Brienne. He looked down at her mountainous full breasts hungrily and then up to her face when Brienne cleared her throat. He glared at the beastly woman before meeting Sansa’s eyes. She was a lovely looking woman. What a shame she was married to such uncivilized scum only good for fighting.

“Your Grace,” she smiled politely, bowing her head to him as if he already sat the Iron Throne.

  
“I hope your time with us has been well. I know your most impatient to join our forces and claim your birthright.” she sounded sincerely sympathetic and Dany wondered how she managed to lie so well to someone's face.

  
She would be a grand actress in a mummers troupe.

“Have you heard from your brother?” he asked her, straightening his tunic, his chin going high.

“Things are going well. Since Stannis’s attack on Kingslanding, Lord Tywin has not left the capital and has been giving his army orders from his place as Hand of the  _ false  _ King.” Sansa emphasized carefully. 

“My brother is doing well to beat back what's remaining of his forces.” she told him, and his mood seemed to improve at this bright news. 

“With just his Northman?” He raised a suspicious brow. “Your brother might be winning but it’s impossible he’s not losing some of his men. Who are his allies?”

“My mother has known Walder Frey since she was a child, she swayed him to aid my brothers to cause in honor of their familiarity and friendship.” she explained, doing well to keep the nervousness she was feeling in her spine from showing.

“Tywin Lannister is a coward abandoning his men.” Viserys spat, referring to Tywin who Sansa would call anything but a coward. He was smart, clever and always had something up his sleeve. 

Her brother may be winning as of now, but for how long, she wondered with great concern.

  
“Yes, your grace, that he is.” she calmly agreed. Though he commanded and lead the strategy of his armies, everyone knew it had been years since the old lion had held a sword.

“Hmph. I’ll have the traitor strung up and burned soon enough once you have your bastard,” he smirked at her, but Sansa’s face didn’t even twitch at the insult to her son. 

“Patience, your grace, you will have what's yours soon.” she smiled and patted her belly. “My babe is getting restless himself, he’s looking forward to meeting his grandmother.”

“You can’t think to take him back to Westeros?!” Viserys exclaimed loudly. “It won’t be highborn, they’ll see it as a bastard.”

  
He tried to say it as if he was concerned for her sensibilities rather than stating his own opinion.

“I will not leave my first born.” she told him. 

“And the world may think him a bastard because his father is Dothraki and he may never be named a lord, but my brother acknowledges my marriage and will grant his nephew land in the North when he comes of age.”

“Why not stay with the savages that remain behind?” he asked clearly annoyed that she would be joining them all the way back to Westeros. “Wouldn’t you be much more comfortable.”

  
“Why didn’t you stay with Magister Illyrio, you could have gone back to him after I promised my husband's army to you? I’m sure you would have been much more comfortable in his manse.”

  
She said, wearing an expectant look as she waited for his answer. Like an angry bird his feathers seemed to ruffle.

“Because I want to make sure you deliver on your promise,” he told him. “When your Khal takes Westeros for me I want him to be the one to put my crown atop my head.”

“And you shall have it so.” she smiled, her eyes filled with no mirth or humor as she saw the disgusting reflection of Joffrey in this man.

Sansa looked around him at Daenerys. 

“I’ve only come to return you your knight.” her smile was more genuine and kind when she looked at Dany.

“Thank you for your company, Ser Jorah.” Sansa bowed her head and walked off with her hand maidens and Brienne.

“What was that?” both Viserys and Dany wanted to know.

  
“She simply asked I tell her my story.” he said honestly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Dany, you foolishly loyal girl.  
> The next chapter might take awhile. I'm trying to decide if I want to go back to Kings Landing and the wedding or go straight to Sansa's ceremony.


	31. 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Mira attend Joffrey's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter for a number of reasons involving the plot. In the end, I think the choice I made, in the end, will still work for the plot as we are reaching season 4 plot in Westeros while poor Dany and Sansa are still in Season 1 plot in Essos.

“Your sister seems much happier with Myrcella back.” Mira pointed out as she and her husband dressed for the long day. 

  
The king’s wedding was that very afternoon and the day would be long with feasts and celebrations. Mira had agonized on what to wear. She had been fitted by the royal seamstress herself, a wedding gift from the Hand of the King. It was very generous but she understood the true thought behind such a luxury. She was a Lannister now, and she must look like one. Her gowns were all elegant but modest, which she herself preferred not being one to boast her the cleavage of her breasts as her Lady Margaery did, though she would never shame her former mistress for her preferences of the neckline.

The dress she currently had her handmaiden fixing her inn was a light weight wool and silk gown with a high neck that covered her collarbone, with cap sleeves and diving V back. After being under the care and influence of those from the Reach she found that she didn’t mind some skin showing, it was rather refreshing but she felt the coming chill as winter approached.

Winter is coming. The Starks words she remembered. She wondered how her brother and father faired by King Robb’s side. She worried about them but was only allowed contact with her mother and she knew her letters were being read in advance as were those that she received now that she had married. She and her mother knew well enough how they should word their correspondences.

“Yes, being that Myrcella is Cersei’s only daughter Cersei may hold my niece a bit closer to her heart than even her sons,” Tyrion said only from observation.

  
“She is a sweet and kind young girl,” Mira said carefully, but Tyrion read between the lines to what she meant.

  
_ She is nothing like Cersei. _

“Yes, my niece blessed with a very attractive character. Not at all like any Lannister in my family that I ever met.” he grinned teasingly at her. 

“She is compassionate, humble, and very courageous. She adores her family very much, even kind to a disfigured uncle like myself--”

  
“Oh stop that!” Mira looked at him over her shoulder as she was turned so that her maid may button her dress. “I hate when you talk about yourself that way.”

  
“It is the truth, wife, a great man once said that you must never forget what you are. The rest of the world will now. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you.” 

  
Mira rolled her eyes. Great man her arse, if only he would treat himself like such. Still, she couldn’t help but smile. 

“My father called you to his chambers the other day, what did you speak of?” Tyrion asked her, sounding and looking at her with concern.

  
“He simply wanted to make sure you were begging me properly.” she said with a blush.

“What a caring father I have.” he made an irritated face.

“And what did you tell him?” he asked, more curious now on how his wife had handled such indecent questioning.

  
“That you often called upon your rights as a husband to lay with me, and that I as your wife perform my wifely duties with utmost...sincerity.” she said awkward and blushing. 

“He wants the maester to examine me. He's concerned why I am not with child yet.” she frowned and looked at her own stomach.

  
Tyrion dismissed her maids and even Podrick. When they were all gone, he went to his wife and took her hand. 

  
“Darling, do not be so worried. Not all marriages produce an heir right away. Not even my sister found that she was with child until near half a year being married to Robert, and we have not been married for that long just yet.” he said and kissed the back of both her hands.

  
“Perhaps we just need to improve our stamina, perhaps once in the morning and once at night doesn’t quite do it anymore.” he teased her and grabbed her waist.

  
“Oh you pervert, if you behave yourself during the wedding you can have me thrice tonight if you wish.” she promised and his eyes grew and gleamed with excitement.

  
“You best keep your word my lady.” he grinned up at her. Mira just bowed down and kissed him on his lips before swatting him away and calling for her maid again to do her hair. 

They stood next Oberyn Martell and in front of them was Myrcella and Cersei in the sept.

  
The queen regent, queen until now that is, had barely allowed Myrcella out of her sight since she entered the Red Keep. Those the princess had arrived with, Oberyn and his paramour Elaria had declined rooms in the castle and instead rented a room in one of the capitals finest and most glamorous of brothels. Little finger was still in the Eyrie, still struggling to get his wife to fight for the Lannisters. Though they roomed at the whore house, they often came to the castle to socialize and make the appropriate appearance at court until the wedding. 

Having Oberyn, Elia’s second oldest brother, the one who had been the closest to her in the capital was a thing of anxiety. The prince had been blunt that he did not in the city just for the Kings wedding. He was in Kings Landing for justice and he would not leave without it. Tywin himself did not like the constant accusations that he continued to deny and dance around, and was trying to find a way to get past this nasty business and history with the Martells. 

Cersei was making her father's life miserable, constantly telling him she would not allow Myrcella to go back to Dorne, not when they were safe again, Stannis defeated and Robb Stark currently fighting off the Greyjoys and Lannister men they were no longer the focus of the war at the moment. He reminded her a marriage contract had already been signed, Myrcella was still betrothed to Doran's eldest boy.

  
“She’s had plenty of time knowing her betrothed, now it is time for her to be home and connect with her family before she bleeds and must, at last, be wed. Do not take her from me again, father.” she had begged him.

Oberyn had no qualms if Myrcella wished to stay after the wedding after all this was her home and her family and he would not force her away from them if she didn’t wish. As long as she returned after her first bleeding to marry in Dorne, there would be no further argument between House Martell and House Lannister on the matter of Myrcella, though he admitted his nephew would miss her very much. 

Cersei though relieved, still kept Myrcella at her sides near all the time, as well as Tommen who was there for the wedding with their Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna. Cersei’s children were growing up and Tywin disapproved of her coddling and hovering of them. Even young lions were meant to leave the pride when they came of age, it was understandable for a mother to be protective of her young but with the disgusting rumors about Cersei already he wanted to avoid any new ones from being born.

Even young lions were meant to leave the pride when they came of age, it was understandable for a mother to be protective of her young but with the disgusting rumors about Cersei already he wanted to avoid any new ones from being born.

He had been very unsettled when he had heard that Cersei often had Tommen sleep in her bed many nights. Some claimed it was because the sensitive child was easily scared and went to his mother for comfort who had not the heart or will to turn him away. It was disturbing, to say the least when he was practically a man grown now. 

Myrcella may stay after the wedding, but rest assured Tommen would be going back to Casterly rock with Kevan. If Tyrion could not produce a son, then Tywin had already written in a will if he was to die that Casterly Rock would go to Tommen when he came of age.

Margaery was a beautiful bride, her gown the most detailed and intricate piece of clothing Tyrion or Mira had ever seen. Her hair was piled high and she wore the small, tiara of stag antlers that had once been Cersei’s. She was a queen.

The ceremony was beautiful, some extra wording added for Joffrey and Margaery that Tyrion and Mira did not have for theirs and when it was over and Joffrey kissed Margaery before taking her hand and raising it, declaring her, at last, the true queen Tyrion noticed the bitter anger in Cersei’s eyes even as she smiled and clapped.

His sister had become power hungry, obsessed with control and being on the very top. Tyrion wondered if she had not birthed any children, that when Robert died she wouldn’t have sat on the throne herself. 

It was dawning on everyone that Cersei did not despise Margaery or even Sansa because she thought neither deserved her son or because she felt that he was being manipulated, but because she didn’t want anyone to be called queen but herself.

 

“You look miserable, Tyrion, what’s wrong?” Mira asked him as they left the Sept. They shared a litter back to the Keep and his wife eyed him with a look of concern as he sat across from her.

  
“I’m only hoping that  _ Queen  _ Margaery can maintain her position and hold on Joffrey.” he sighed.

“ _ Queen  _ Margaery has a particular skill, we both know it, we’ve both seen it. She can adapt to the wants and personality of anyone and had an incredibly strong resolve. She knows exactly what to say and how to say it. I don’t think it’s possible that King Joffrey might get bored of her if that's what you mean.” she gave her opinion.

“Yes, you're right.” Tyrion agreed and relaxed some. 

  
Mira reached across and put her hands on his knees.

  
“Let us enjoy today, husband, you’ve worked so hard with the accounting of this wedding, drink, and laugh and hold my hand and will be well.” she told him.

“I am far too lucky to have you, Mira.” he told her and reached for her face, taking it in his hands and drawing it to his own until they were kissing, lips moving against one another.

Mira squeaked when Tyrion suddenly dropped to the floor of the litter and began to lift his wife's gown up.

“Tyrion, what are you doing.” she cried out.

  
But Tyrion didn’t answer, just down under her gown, slipping aside her small clothes and enjoyed himself a taste of his wife's honeypot.

Mira gasps and moans, heart pounding as she covers her mouth with her hand so those carrying their litter do not hear them, and it practically burst from her chest was Bronn rides up beside them and knocks on the wood to let them know they’ll be arriving in just a few minutes.

  
Tyrion rushes his work, tongue lapping over and flicking all the right spots of her womanhood until she is clenching the fabric by his head, and lets out a loud cry she knows they must have heard. When Tyrion crawls back out from under her skirt she is near breathless and his face is flushed from the heat between her legs.

“You naughty man.” she says while trying to catch her breath. 

  
When they stop and Mira exits the litter a maid is waiting for her and Mira is glad she has a clean cloth with her and helps to wipe the sweat from her brow. There is a breeze that cools them all off and it’s most refreshing and relaxing when the sky is without clouds to shield them from the sun's direct light. 

The festivities were quite grand, will troupes of actors and performers of all kinds, fire breathers, and sword swallowers, the decorations all in the Lannister colors of red and gold. Mira was glad she had decided to wear her blue wool gown, so many people seemed to be matching color and it was unnerving. She felt more surrounded by Lannisters than ever before. 

  
Because Tyrion was so much shorter than she and she couldn't exactly walk on her knees the entire time for him, she could not be escorted on her arm but he didn’t mind that she kept a hand on his shoulder which he would continuously reach up and pat.

It was comforting for both of them, to not just sense or see the other, but to feel with their own hands that they were together, side by side with no one between them. 

“Uncle Tyrion, Aunt Mira!” Myrcella approached them joyously, her mother following right behind her, hand holding a glass of wine. 

Mira was not but a year or so older than Margeary, it felt quite odd to be called aunt by a girl nearly a woman grown. Still, she smiled and affectionatly returned the kisses to her cheeks that Myrcella bestowed. It was a Dornish custom that she had picked up. In fact Myrcella was dressed in a fine Dornish gown, a thin fabricked gown with large sleeves that exposed most of her shoulders with a deep v in the front adorned and synched with fine, detailed embroidery. The gown was in two pieces, with a, embroidered silk slip underneath. 

She looked like a woman.

She had her mother's long golden curls, mouth and chin. All of Cersei’s beauty. But looking at her eyes, her nose, Tyrion could see his brother in her features. 

She leaned down and kissed her uncles cheek as well before standing.

  
“Have you had the chance to speak with your new sister yet?” Tyrion asked, glancing at Cersei behind her who sneered at him while her daughter wans’t looking.

  
“Oh yes, mother, Queen Margeary and I had a lovely sit down together. She is very sweet and funny, my brother is very lucky to have such a wife.” she told him.

Myrcella knew what Joffrey was really like, she had felt so awful for Sansa and was glad that she had been freed from her brother and happy to find that his next bride to be was more to his liking and seemed to be relatively kind and decent to her.

“I heard you were once a lady in waiting to my good-sister, isn’t her gown just incredible.” Myrcella made sincere conversation with Mira.

  
“Yes, I was. And yes, it is extraordinary, both lady--I mean, Queen Margaery had her personal seamstress and the royal seamstress working on it. And her hair is just beautiful as well.”

  
The two girls were happy to talk about Margaery choice of style for her wedding, and the other things a woman might notice about a wedding that men did not think about.

Tyrion walked over to his sister, looking up at her. “You can leave the side, you know, she’ll be alright. Take a walk, mingle a little.”

He tried to encourage, though he knew his sister didn’t mingle, but he also could tell after being away for awhile and reaching some independence, that Myrcella was feeling a bit suffocated by her mother.

“You sent her away. You sent my only daughter away.” she reminded him, a slight tremor in her voice as she remembered that awful, heart wrenching day her daughter was put on a ship.

“Yes, and I had her brought back.” he also reminded her.

  
“But not for good.” Cersei hissed.

“No.” he shook his head.

  
“Myrcella is at a marriageable age now, at least to be betrothed.” he started to lecture, sounding much like their father that was somewhere amongst the party guests.

  
“She is from two great houses, it would have been expected that she be given to an equally prosperous house eventually. If I hadn’t make the match father would have, and he would have done what's best for the Lannister name. I did what's best for Myrcella.”   
Cersei scoffed. “Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

  
“It’s the truth. I’ve told you before, I don’t blame your children at all for you, and I would never do anything to hurt or punish them because of your faults and crimes.”

They’re attention was drawn to the pavilion in which the Joffrey and Margaery sat, the royal families split between two tables on either side of them. Tyrrell's on Margaery's side and Lannister on Joffrey’s.

The King had stood to announce the queen would like to say a few words.

“We are so fortunate to enjoy this marvelous food and drink, not all amongst us are so lucky.” Margaery began.

  
“To thank the gods for bringing the recent war against Stannis to a just end, King Joffrey, My husband, has decreed the leftovers will be given to the poorest in his city.”

  
There were claps and shouts of Joffrey’s name

  
Cersei grinded her teeth.

  
“Excuse me.” she said, and went over to Myrcella, and then leaving her with Mira to stalk off to most likely make some poor bastards day miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am constantly amazed at people telling me how well written my story is. Honestly I think it's a spelling and grammar mess, I even installed grammarly as backup correcter when I am proof reading the chapters in AO3.  
> But thank you guys so much.


	32. 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And at last they arrive at Vaes Dothrak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Joffrey is going to live past his wedding and live through some of Tommen's plot with the whole Sparrow thing. Possibly. Still working on it.

Sansa felt out of breath on top of her mare, her big belly making it difficult to ride. She knew she could ride in a cart, but for the appearance of being strong, she rather rides by her husband's side as long as possible. She let the reigns go for just a moment to rub over her belly, her baby stirring inside her relentlessly as of late, and looked at the Great Horse Gate of Vaes Dothrak. The Bronze Stallions were the only landmark entrance to the great spread of land before them, the beasts rearing back so that their hooves met a hundred feet above their heads, making a pointed arch.

Sansa had to admit, it was beautiful. The great horses framing the distant purple mountain beyond, that statue casting a long shadow over the swaying grasses.

She stopped for a moment to appreciate it while Khal Drogo continued to lead the Khalasar under the arch into the canyon, his blood riders beside him. Once past the arch they gave a joyous cry and rode free and wild, galloping on ahead.

Dany rode up next to Sansa.

  
“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned. Her riding at grown increasingly better, and she nearly handled herself better on a horse than Sansa now. 

“Yes, it’s just been a long journey.” 

Dany looked out in front of them and frowned. There were no buildings to be seen, through smoke rose from campfires, everything else was just grassland and ancient monuments from all the lands the Dothraki had sacked over the centuries.

  
“Where’s the city?” she asked as they rode together under the Arch, Brienne at Sansa’s side and Jorah by Dany’s. After their private talk, it seemed Sansa and Jorah had a new understanding towards one another now, and any and all hostility seemed to vanished though they were not friends, they were decent and respectful to one another. 

“Just under the mountain, up ahead.” Ser Jorah answered having been to Vaes Dothrak before. 

“A city of mud,” Viserys said riding around and to the front of them, sneering with disgust. “Mud, shit, and twigs.  This is the best the savages can do.”

“These are my people now, Your  _ Grace _ .” Sansa reminded him. “The same people that will make up more than half of your army. Watch your tongue when addressing them.”

“Yes, my army. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army all because of their stupid omens and your bastard. How long must I expect to wait amidst these ruins and mud huts before Drogo gives me my army?”

“The Khaleesi must be presented to the Dosh Khaleen…” Jorah began to explain again to him.

  
“The Crones, yes, now I remember.” he interrupted. “And there's to be some mummers show of a prophecy for the whelp in her belly, you told me. What is that to me? I’m tired of eating horsemeat and I’m sick of the stink of these savages.”

Viserys sniffed at the wide, floppy sleeve of his tunic, His tunic was filthy, insisting on keeping to wearing silks that were heavy and ill fitted for the Dothraki lifestyle. Most of his clothes were stained hard by travel and rotted from sweat.

“They have a western market, they will have food more to your taste, Your Grace. The traders from the free cities come here to sell . The Khal will honor his promise in his own time.” Jorah tried to help.

“He had better,” Viserys said and glared at Sansa. “I was promised a crown, and I mean to have it.”

  
“If you irritate me any further you're going to have a crown of shit sitting on your head,” Sansa growled, pregnant, hot, tired and hungry. She had no patience for this cunt before her and his demands and complaints.

Said dogs road to the side of the Khalasar, following but not too near the horses as to spook them. 

“How dare you!” he said, reaching for his sword.

  
Brienne already had hers drawn and the screamers behind her readied their bows.

  
“How dare I?” Sansa screamed. “You are the one that came to my Khalasar, who asked for my army, and you dare make complaints and whine like a fussy whore over what you are given. My brother doesn’t need your sister, _ I  _ don’t need  _ you _ , my husbands would march to Westeros for my honor alone to avenge the discrepancies against me.”

  
“You remember this very carefully, you are no king until you sit that throne, and if I wanted I could make you a slave, tied and pulled behind my Khalasar, dragged in the mud and over rocks until you breathe no more.” she threatened.

“You have no power here, no friends, just a sister and a former knight with no respect for you,” she told him.

Viserys chin wobbled with humiliation and he seemed to fumble in his rage as what to say, trying to pull out his sword on her. Brienne quicky disarmed the inexperience mand from atop her horse and she had her own sword at his throat. 

“Please, Sansa!” Dany rode up between Brienne and her brother. “He’s just tired, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  
“The dragon speaks as he likes.” he told his sister, grabbing her hair and pulling it back, nearly ripping her down from her own horse as she shielded him.

  
“Let her go.” Sansa warned him, voice low and dangerous. He had no weapon, only Dany’s hair in his hand and Brienne’s sword aimed at his jugular. She gave a little stab at his shoulder for a reminder, blood drawn and Viserys gave a yelp as he let go of his sister's hair and put a hand over the shallow stab wound.

  
“I can just kill you now, you know,” she said to him. “Be done with you all together,”

She sincerely contemplated. “It would not be the first time I had a man killed for disrespecting me. There were more Lannister men that came with me.”

A Dothraki rode up next to Sansa, a whip in his hand, asking the Khaleesi if she wanted him to get Dany out of the way.

  
“No, don’t touch her.” she told him.

"Dany, I want you to decide how your brother should be punished for his disrespect of me, _you,_ my _son_ and my people." she looked at the girl.

"Me?" Dany was stunned.  
  


"Yes, you." 

Dany moved away from her brother and looked at the ground in thought.  
  


"Make him walk." she decided after a moment, remembering how he had pulled her hair, hurting her when she tried to protect him.

"Take his horse." One of the Khas rode up, and knocked him easily enough from his mount and took the horse by the reigns and leading it away from the fussy man.  
  
"You can't do this!" Viserys stomped his foot like a petulant child.

“I have shown you more than the respect you deserve, if you don’t begin to return the same courtesy you’ll find our alliance at an end and yourself perhaps without a head.”

She said no more and rode past Viserys and Dany, forward on until she caught up to the blood riders and rode through the great bazaar with them and down the broad paths beyond. Sansa was amazed, the vast openness made it feel like both the largest city and the smallest ever known and Sansa suddenly found herself comparing it to the North. A vast terrain, sprawled languorously, baking in the warm sun, ancient, arrogant and empty. 

The North was vast just the same, green rolling hills, large, snow covered fields, and tall ancient trees and mountains mostly to the north west and open land to the north east. From Winterfell to the Lonely Hills it was just flat land covered in snow. 

Vaes Dothrak had broad windswept streets paved in grass and mud and Sansa thought of the cold hardened dirt roads of the Winterfell. She knew the North’s map as well as she did the lines on her palms. Under the blistering sun, she had come to appreciate the chill and freeze of her birthplace. 

She had begun to pray again, to the old gods and to the mother of mountains, that her son would one day get to play in the snow, know both the heat of Essos and the cold of the North.

Her husband finally called a halt near the Eastern Market where the caravans from Yi Ti, Ashai and the Shadowlands came to a trade. Drogo had sent a small army of slaves ahead to prepare Khal Drogo’s arrival. As each rider swing off their horse, they unbelted their arakh’s and handed them and any other weapons to waiting slaves.

Even Khal Drogo wasn’t exempt from this rule and neither was Sansa. Who after being helped from her mare by Brienne, handed a slave boy her dagger and after her Shae and Brienne hesitantly forfeited their own weapons. Jorah had explained to the lady knight that it was strictly forbidden to carry any blade in Vaes Dothrak, or to shed a free man's blood. Warring Khalasars would even put aside their differences and fields to share meat and mead together when they were in sight of the mother of mountains.

Here, in this place, the crones of the dosh Khaleen had decreed, all Dothraki were one blood, one herd, and one Khalasar. 

Like Jorah Brienne had come in her armor. But it was difficult to wear it constantly and Sansa had insisted on finding her a more suitable attire otherwise the woman would find herself fainting from the being cooked in her armor with the heat of the sun.

“No gowns or skirts, My Lady.” Brienne had fought.

“I figured not. Your most comfortable in your armor but you need at least thinner clothing underneath to stave off some of the heat. I have some fabrics left, I’ll make you a pair of trousers and a tunic.”

  
And she had. Her tunic was of a beautiful cerulean that brought out Brienne’s eyes and trousers that she wore with her knight's kilt. Her attire was similar but not identical to Ser Jorahs and no one brought to attention the similarities at any point. Most of all Brienne was more comfortable during their travels now. 

Cohollo, Drogo’s oldest Blood Rider came forth and spoke to Sansa in Dothraki. 

  
“Khaleesi,” he begain. “Drogo, who is blood of my blood, commands me to tell you that he must ascend the Mother of Mountains this night, to sacrifice to the gods for his safe return.”

  
Sansa nodded her understanding and touched his arm. 

Tell my sun and stars that I will wait anxiously for his return.’” she replied and cradling her big belly she let Irri lead her to the hollow hill that had been prepared for her and her khal. She was grateful for the coolness within and quickly found herself being helped down on a bed of pillows and soft fur. She was exhausted, between the near constant riding, the baby’s constant kicking and Drogo’s insatiable desire for her body keeping her awake she was due for a long undisturbed rest. 

She groaned as Irri pulled the boots from her aching feet and Shae had her turn on her side so that she could rub her back. Her pregnancy was much harder on her than she let it appear.

  
“Will someone please prepare a bath.” she commanded, moaning when Shae rubbed out a particularly nasty knot next to her spine.

“Yes, Khaleesi.” Irri stood and went to boil the water. The slaves had already brought in the copper tub that stood against one of the walls of the cave. 

“It will be good for you that we stay here awhile, my lady,” Brienne spoke out in concern.

“Not ‘Lady’, Khaleesi.” Irri corrected upon returning with a bucket.

  
“My apologies. Khaleesi, is what I meant to say.” Brienne replied to Irri. “I am still getting used to your titles and customs.”

  
“Irri, leave her be.” Sansa waved a hand in the air. 

“Lady Brienne, a tent’s been prepared for you, I am sure you are sore as well. I’ll send someone to make you a bath as well, I’m safe here.” Sansa gave her a tired smile.

Brienne eyed the arriving Dothraki in the distance with skepticism.

  
“Honestly, Brienne, relax a little while and rest. Bathe and I’ll have some food brought from the western market for super sent to you.”

Brienne was tired of horsemeat and would be grateful to have something else on her palette.

“If that is what, My lad--Khaleesi commands.” said Brienne and bowed out. 

When Sansa’s bath was filled, Shae and Irri helped her back to a stand and then to take off her clothes and step into the tub. 

The warm water was fantastic and Irri had it infused with wildflowers and herbs to soothe the body. It was absolutely sensational to have the dust of travel washed from her skin and hair washed of the oil in it. Her weary bones were thankful to her as well and even her son seemed to relax inside her as she sat in the tub. The mountain of her belly half floating above the surface. She had Shae hand her a second sponge to wash her belly, singing her son sweet songs. 

After her bath she was dressed in nothing but a robe and she immediately laid down again, giving Shae leave and Irri gentle commands to see to Brienne. With them gone, Sansa quickly fell asleep, her wild dogs hudled around her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to take a look at how I imagine Mira go to this link   
> https://www.thesun.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/nintchdbpict000330249462.jpg?strip=all&w=640  
> Or google Ellise Chappell from Poldark.  
> Also if anyone would like to make a cover art or banner/edit of characters or couples from the story I love that stuff. No pressure, just think it's really cool.


	33. 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BABY NAME TIME!!!!  
> Sansa centered again.   
> Also, the last chapter happened at the exact same time as Joffrey's wedding if anyone is wondering where we are on the timeline with the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter I had to take from the books, I tried to keep as little as possible from being a direct word for word on anything.  
> So if anything seems oddly familiar that is why, I admit it.  
> Next chapter we'll be again having more interaction with Dany, and Viserys end approaches.

She had just about starved herself for days for just this night. She thought if she was hungry as possible it would better help her keep it down. To prepare for the ceremony Drogo himself brought her bowls of half-clotted blood and strips of dried horse flesh to accustom herself to the taste. It was all she ate before fasting. 

The stallions heart was steaming as it was exchanged from Khal Drogo’s hands to hers. It was slick in her hand and she had to hold back a gag before she even took a bite. Drogo’s arms were red up to the elbow from how deep he had reached in for it, his blood riders knelt in the sand with stone knives in their hands, the stallions corpse still warm. The heart was fresh.

Blood, black in the orange of the torches, dripped onto her bulging belly, sliding a trail down the stretched flesh. Sweat beaded her skin, her red hair the color of the torches was braided down the middle from the front, two smaller braids at the sliders lead to the main braid and slipped into the folds of the plait. She wore more traditional Dothraki clothing as well for the occasion. A long wool skirt and a horse leather bralette, her stomach exposed. 

The old women watched her, the ancient crones of Vaes Dothrak, their eyes judging. She could not flinch, she could not grimace or gag or even wrinkle her nose at the stench.

She met Drogo’s eyes, raised the heart to her mouth and sunk her teeth into the tough, stringy flesh. Hot blood exploded into her mouth and ran down her chin. She thought about lemon cakes and made herself chew and swallow the first bite. 

Sansa took another bite, ripping a piece off. The stallions heart was all, thick muscle that she had to worry at it with her teeth before managing to get a whole piece free and in her mouth. She was allowed no tools, not even a plate, she stood on a raised pedestal at the center of the tent, surrounded by Dothraki from not only her Khalasar but others as well. Drogo stood sitting, eyes on her, and only her, face unreadable. 

He was dressed for the occasion as well, gold bells in his braids and rings in his beard and a heavy belt of gold around his waist. His chest was bare like it usually was. 

She thought of her brother, fighting and leading an army, how young and strong he was. The stallions heart was supposed to make her son strong, swift and fearless. 

Like Robb, Sansa thought.

She swallowed and went in for another, trying to get this over with quickly.

If she choked on the blood or wretched up the flesh they would think it an omen that her child would be stillborn, or deformed or worse of all female.

It was Sansa’s worst fear, from long ago, to the days she had been first betrothed to Joffrey that she would have a girl, possibly only girls. It scared her still, she was so terrified of having a girl, of how Drogo would look at her if she failed to give him a son. It was the fear of most women. And Sansa never felt it more in her heart as she did eating that heart, praying to the old gods and mother of mountains that her child truly is a boy. 

She plunged her teeth around the flesh and used her teeth to help cut away the pieces. As she chewed she could feel the blood that smeared her jaw dry and cool, and she thought of the dire wolves they had when Shaggy dog had caught a rabbit as only a pup, his muzzle stained with the creature's blood.

  
She was a wolf, a dire wolf, she reminded herself. This should not be so strange for a wolf, it was natural they were hunters, carnivores, they tore apart flesh and ate the meat of their prey. 

She chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, and then she chewed and swallowed the very last piece of the heart. Even after not eating for a near two days she felt so full. She wished she had something to wash it down but was given nothing.

  
She stared down her husband, catching glimpse of pride in his dark eyes and then she threw back her head and howled as the Dosh Khaleen began their chanting.

“Rakh! Rakh! Rakh haj!” they proclaimed. 

  
A boy, a strong boy. 

  
Sansa almost began to cry. 

Bells rang and a deeply throated war horn sounded it’s long note. The old women kept to their chanting, the eunuchs that served them threw bundles of dried grass into a great bronze brazier. Clouds of fragrant smoke rose up towards the moon and stars. The Dothraki though the stars were horses made of fire, a great herd galloping across the sky by night. As the smoke ascended and the chanting died away, the ancient crone closed her single eye. 

  
The better to peer into the future. 

The silence was instant. The Dothraki stared at the old crone, waiting.

Sansa too, held her breath, her fear back.

She nearly jumped when she felt Drogo lay a hand on her arm. She could feel the tension in his fingers. Even a Khal as mighty as Drogo could know fear when the dosh khaleen peered into the smoke of the future. She put her hand over his.

At her back, Shae and Irri fidgeted anxiously, Viserys, Dany and Jorah also there as witnesses. 

Finally, the crone opened her eye and lifted her arms.

  
“I have seen his face, and heard the thunder of his hooves,” she proclaimed in a thin, wavery voice.

  
“The thunder of his hooves!” the others chorused.

“As swift as the wind he rides across frozen lakes and snow covered hills, a great khalasar stampede with him, arakhs of black glass, sharp and shining in their hands. He shall conquer the wood walkers and with them stand atop a great wall of ice, taller than the mother of mountains herself and monsters and men shall tremble beneath him!”

The one eyed crone peered at Sansa. “Tell us, what shall he be called?”

“Jhariqo, he shall be called Jhariqo!” she pronounced to them all, red, sticky hands touching her stomach protectively. 

The Dothraki roared her son's name repeatedly. And Drogo lifted her off the podium, carefully putting her down in front of him and touching his forehead to hers, nose touching. 

  
“Jhariqo,” he said his son's name for the first time approvingly. 

The ceremony was not over yet, next she must walk to the womb of the world to wash away the blood of the stallion's heart. Drogo led her from the tent. His blood riders fell in behind them and soon they had a full procession that followed them out onto the godsway. The crones of the dosh khaleen came first, with their eunuchs and slaves. Some were so old they need to support themselves on carved staffs and some young widows that only just began to walk with pride again. 

Every woman that of the dosh khaleen had once been a khaleesi once. When their husbands died and a new khal took his place with a new khaleesi the widows were sent to Vaes Dothrak to reign over the vast Dothraki nation as a crone. And if Drogo died, Sansa would have to join them. It was not optional. Once word was heard of her Khals death they would come for her. It gave her shivers to think about such a thing happening.

“Did I pick a good name?” Sansa asked Drogo as they walked. She had heard that Jhariqo was a city on the moon, in which the great burning stallions of the sky rested during the day.

  
“Yes, Moon of my life, you pick great name.” his copper mask cracked to smile and he kissed the top of her head.  She wrapped her arms around his and rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. The night was so beautiful, the moon was full and the stars were the brightest Sansa had ever seen them.

“What do you think prophecy mean?” Drogo surprised her with the question, but he trusted her opinion.

“I can’t say for sure about these ‘wood walkers’ or arakhs of black glass, but in the North where I am from, my great ancestor Branden built a wall of ice several hundred feet high, that guard us against the monster on the other side in the wild lands beyond.”

  
“Son will defeat these monsters, he will conquer and be Khal of this wall and its people.” Drogo decided and Sansa had not the heart to tell him about the Night Watch. But perhaps there was some truth, about the monsters, if the Dosh Khaleen could see them. 

She could only take the prophecy as that perhaps, her son would join the night's watch and be named the Commander. But it seemed so strange for such a fate for the oldest of her children, of anyone first born sons unless they committed some terrible crime. 

She tried to take comfort that it would be many years in the future before she would have to see such a future come true. 

After she dipped herself in the Womb of the world they returned to enjoy a great feast together with all the Khals, their wives, and sons.  Drogo took a seat at the high benching, where the Khals all sat, it was a seat of high honor. The blood riders of their khals sat below them, and father down were the wives. 

As it had been her ceremony, her cushions were arranged in the middle. Some looked at her with disdain, clearly disproving of her as the whispered hiss about her to one another. The younger wives,  mostly young Dothraki girls, even young in Westerosi culture to be betrothed, on the other side of Sansa admired her belly. Sansa was learning that the status of a Khaleesi varied in each Khalasar. Some, the Khaleesi was very influential, like her that rode beside the Khal. In others she was treated lesser than a horse and somewhere in between, still respected but ignored. Those ones reminded Sansa of Cersei before King Robert’s death.

Ser Jorah, Brienne and Dany were near the center of the hall, close to the middle firepit. Where they sat was also a seat of respect. The Dothraki esteemed both knights prowess with a sword. Brienne had proved herself in spar with some of the Dothraki men, though she did not kill them brutally or cut of their braids. Though she held respect for her fighting, she also lost some for her lack of ruthlessness when not in like threatening danger. Sansa tried to explain that was the way in Westeros, knights fought for practice rather than sport and conquest, so no one need die. Khal Drogo did not understand the point, and the young men who fought Brienne felt more humiliated at surving the lost than if they had actually been killed. 

Dany after giving the humiliating command to make her brother walk was also held in slightly higher esteem now as she began to show her backbone and so was allowed to sit with Jorah, if not just to make her brother feel worse, who had not even showed for the feast.

“Khaleesi.” 

  
Sansa looked up at the smirking, teasing face of Shae who held a silver dome covered platter. 

  
“I found quite a delicacy at the western market,” she said and lifted the dome to show a full plate of lemon cakes. Sansa’s mouth watered.

“Oh you wonderful woman!” Sansa proclaimed and quickly snatched one of the sweet, tart treats from the tray. She moaned as she popped it into her mouth.

“Here, have some.” Sansa motioned Shae to offer some to the younger Khaleesi’s first and then to the older ones. They glared at the treats but took one each.

  
Hesitantly the woman put them in their mouths and chewed, making a puckered face at the tart taste and Sansa laughed. The other girls had the same expression but they each took another when Shae sat the plate before them.

  
“Thank you, my friend.” Sansa smiled. “Now sit and talk with me some. These woman don’t know the common tongue well, and speaking in Dothraki for so long hurts my jaw.”

“Now, tell me is there any many here that you fancy?” Sansa asked seriously and Shae gave a laugh.

  
“There are some I have already tasted.” she winked and eyes a few of the Khas from their khalasar, and one who was part of another.

“It’s different when you’re not paid with gold, but even us woman have that scratch that can only be itched by the tip of a cock.” She said earning a roll of the eye from Sansa.

  
“In the last letter I received, my brother said he heard that Lord Tyrion has married, to Mira Forrester, a highborn girl from the North.” 

Shae did not frown, in fact she looked unmoved by this news as she calmly took a drink of her wine and eyes a particularly muscled Dothraki.

“Shae?”

  
“What would you like me to say, Sansa?” Shae looked at her, her stare icey, hurt. “Would you like me to break out into sobs like some little girl over my broken heart?

“No, Shae,” Sansa sighed and shook her head. She should have realized she would get defensive.

“I know you care, Sansa, but I knew this day would come eventually. It hurts, but I’m also happy that he’s moved on, and only hope his wife is kind to him and makes him laugh. He so loves to laugh.” she said and turned her face away when her eyes began to tear and her voice grew thick with emotion.

Sansa knew there were no words that would comfort her friend and protector, so she simply slid her hand across the floor and laid it atop Shae’s, hoping the touch gave her some small comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the hardest time thinking up the future of this kid.  
> Finally, though, I got it in my head.   
> It's never really going to come up again since it would be an almost 20-year jump and I don't know if I want to do a full fledged epilogue.  
> But if anyone is interested in the exact future of Jhariqo, please let me know. I can add it as an extra before or after an end of a chapter if I get enough requests to write a more detailed explanation.   
> Saying that I just probably spoiled that he's going to live.  
> Shit!


	34. 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some one on one Robb and Roslyn time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it took me so long to update because I've got a new OTP.  
> If anyone of you has seen the new episodes some of you might know about a certain, tree trunk armed, a handsome young lord named DICKON TARLY.  
> And well I've jumped on the Dicksa or Dickon x Sansa train, and am working on a new story with them.  
> I'm also working on a Jonsa fic, that may or may not be only a few chapters long that takes place in the new season.  
> That being said, if you are a Jonerys shipper or think Jonsa is gross, please don't give me grief it's wasted because I won't respond to it.

The reason for the stationing in Riverrun had first been out of respect for his dying grandfather, but Robb soon found the castle a good stronghold and base of operations.

Roslyn was well received by his mother's family, and she seemed glad to be in a keep again rather than a tent. She was still without child, and with how the tidings of the war going on their side that was an increasing concern.

  
With Joffrey married to the Tyrell girl, Robb’s army was finding himself completely outnumbered and overpowered. Worst of all was the news of Winterfell and his brothers. He had gotten a report back from a scout that Theon had been burned and hung Bran and Rickon in the square of Winterfell.

  
His mother was devastated. She should have been with them, she kept saying, they shouldn’t have died alone like that without her there to at least try and fight for their lives. She blamed Robb for not allowing her to go back home, instead insisting she stay with him and treat with possible allies in his stead. His mother hadn’t been so upset with him since the first letter he received from Sansa.

She hadn’t written to Sansa herself since she told them she was with child by the Dothraki man. It wasn’t because she didn’t care, that she was suddenly upset or angry with her daughter, but she didn’t know what to say. Her grandchild would be considered a bastard, and Catelyn didn’t look upon bastards kindly even before Jon. But this was her daughter’s son, her grandchild, how could she not love it, how could she turn the child away. It was not the same as Ned bringing Jon back, she tried to convince herself.

Robb sat at a writing table, a quill in hand and parchment laid out before him, struggling how to tell his sister their brothers were dead.  He worried, his mother said that extreme shock and stress could cause miscarriages or stillborns, he was afraid if she received his letter before her babe was born something might happen. Sansa was always so emotional and easy to upset.

He had been mad at Sansa, for a long while, after they had received her raven from the capital telling him to come and bend the knee and that their father was a traitor. Bran reminded him she lost her wolf and their mother and Maester swore that though it was her hand, it was not her words. But he didn’t believe her, Sansa had always been selfish and conceited, naive to and blind eyed to reality. He loved her, he used to spend hours as a young boy doing all that she asked, he had thought she was the sweetest, prettiest thing, then they got older all Sansa cared about were songs and stories and her stupid stitching, with her head in the clouds. But then there were the days, they would sit and just talk about the future and the past, her head on his shoulder as they watched the snow fall or stared into the fire. She was still his sister, his first sister.

He remembered begging mother and father to hold her, and Ned was so terrified of holding her himself, his brave father was petrified to think of his still wobbly legged son holding her. But Catelyn had eased his worries, having Robb crawl into her lap, leaning back against her and then Ned would put Sansa in his arms with his mother's underneath his, putting his hand in the right places to support her. She was so tiny, even smaller than Arya when she was first born, yet she grew near as tall as him. Like a weed.  
She used to fret that no decent man would want a wife taller than himself. Her had assured her that as long as she was pretty with a good name, no man would care about her height. That apparently had been the wrong thing to say and she had stormed off.

“Robb?” Roslyn’s voice carried from the bed. It was the middle of the night, he had been unable to sleep so he thought he would try to write to his sister. A number of crumpled parchment from failed letters were strewn across the floor from where he had tossed them.

  
The truth was, that he cared about Roslyn, she was beautiful, patient and dutiful but she lacked a fire and passion that he wished the Queen of the North would have. He didn’t love her, he wasn’t sure if he ever would, but they were good to each other, fond and friendly, better than some had.

“Did the candle light wake you?” he asked her.

  
She shook her head. “I didn’t feel you next to me.”

He frowned, some husbands and wives didn’t even share the same chamber, but they were adamantly working to make an heir near every night. Though if she ever wished it, she had her own room to retreat to. He never forced her to lay with him, and some nights she even initiated it herself. Quited as a dormouse as she bit her lip and reached into his trousers.

“What's wrong?” she asked, crawling across the feather bed and then sitting at it’s edge.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “If I am keeping you up, you may go to your chambers if you like.”

  
This time it was Roslyn who frowned, looking hurt even. “Are you dismissing me, My Lord?”

  
Robb sighed, it seemed a common thing for wives to call their husbands by their title when upset with them, or feeling that perhaps it was the husband that was the one offended.

“No, Ros.” he said and watched as his words brought her some relief, her shoulders slumping relaxing like and her features smoothing out.

  
“Tell me, I’m your wife. Can’t you confide in me some?” she asked him, standing and putting a hand on his shoulder and he found himself tilting his head towards her some, the fingers of her other hand playing with the curls at his neck.

“My sister, she needs to know about Bran and Rickon. I---” he felt his throat get tight, mouth dry.

“You don’t know how to tell her?” she finished gently for him.

Robb nodded.

“I say, start with the terrible news.” she said, and that made no sense to Robb.

  
“If you hold off to the end, the wait reading through the rest up to it will only make her anxious. Tell her they're gone, then explain the rest.” she gave her opinion.

“Rickon was her favorite.” he suddenly said.

  
“Sansa was so much more Tully than Stark, not like me or Arya, or even Bran. Rickon, was so small, so much easier to be around. He was wild and free but with her, he was so calm. He would curl up at her ankles like a puppy as she sang or practiced her stitching by the fire.”

“She adored him, loved to pick him up and carry him around like her own babe until mother started to scold her that he was getting too old and he needed to learn to walk. But even then, she held his small hand.”

He felt the hot burn of tears, a feeling he hadn’t had since his father died.

  
“And she loved Bran, too, she fretted just like mother whenever he climbed too high, but then when he came down she would laugh and hug him. She loved that he liked to read and would often take her own history lessons with him.” he chin quivered.   
“It’s not fair, Theon was my brother, I loved him and he killed my other brothers. They were innocent, little boys!”

  
Roslyn gasped as Robb wrapped his arms around her waist, his face pressing into her abdomen. When she overcame her surprise she held him close, soothing him and listening to his cries. No one else but them would know of his tears tonight.

She leads him back to their bed, held him through the night until he fell asleep against her breast and in the morning she helped him compose the letter to Sansa.

From that day, something had changed in the balance of their marriage. Though she was not as outspoken in front of others like his mother, Robb found himself at night asking her council on some matters.

  
“I’m thinking about sending one of my Bannerman with a portion of our men back to retake Winterfell.” he had told her before discussing it with his mother or uncle.

“Perhaps--”she hesitated.  “Perhaps everyone should go back.”

He looked at her sharply.

“If I take all my men back, it will look like I am retreating from the Lannister army ahead of me, that I’m running scared!”

“No one would think that, no one truly loyal to you at least.” she tried to convince him. “It is your home, Robb, the one that should take it back is not a Bannerman but you.”

  
“And If i go back, all my victories so far against the Lannisters will be for naught, they’ll take back all the land that we’ve claimed thus far.” he argued.

  
“Southern Land, not Northern. You are king in the North, you sister is free from King's Landing, besides vengeance, there is nothing left for you to march towards king's landing for.” she reminded him.

“Mira Forrester wed Tyrion Lannister because you couldn’t protect them because you're not in the north to lend assistance to their cause. More houses from the North will turn against you if they feel that you’ve abandoned them.”

“The Forresters are traitors!” he slammed his hand down on the table and Roslyn flinch, and for a moment she thought to keep quiet, to not say anymore and leave her husband be, but if he wanted an outspoken wife than she would give him one and show him that her allegiance and loyalty was to the North, as it’s queen and king should be.

  
“They were desperate and you weren’t there to protect them.” she spat.

  
“Take your men home, give assistance to your vassal houses, show them where your heart truly lies, with them, your people.” Roslyn boldly stepped forward, putting a hand over Robbs fisted one atop the table.

  
“And when the Lannisters push forward, into the North, what then?” He growled, looking down on her intelligence and she so wished she could slap him.

  
“The North is too vast, and winter comes they won’t get through the snowfall. The North, as it was before the Targaryens brought it under their control with dragons, will be untouchable and independent.”

  
“And my agreement with Viserys?” he asked her.

“He doesn’t know about me. When you go to meet him with your armies I will be at Winterfell, with your son,” she told him and took his fisted hand, prying his fingers loose and placing his palm on her flat stomach.

  
“Take us home, Robb.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you think Robb will maybe not be a huge jackass and take his, until now, meek and quiet wife's suggestion?


	35. 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Sansa spend some time together, and Sansa gives her some advice.

“I should not have put you in such a terrible position with your brother,” Sansa said as they sat along the edge of the Womb of the World. It had been a week since they arrived in Vaes Dothrak.

  
“I’m sorry.” she bit her lip, truly feeling horrible about making Dany punish her own brother, even when he had been so cruel to her. 

“No, I---”Daenerys looked around them, as if feeling her brother near by, but when she was sure he was not she looked back at Sansa. “Don’t be sorry. It felt good, for just a moment to feel what it’s like to be The Dragon.” 

She laughed and Sansa didn’t know what this Dragon was that she spoke of. 

“Though he is still rather upset with me.” she admitted but she didn’t seem as afraid as she was of him before.

  
“I used to get along very well with my brothers when I was younger, but as I grew older not so much.” she said with a shrug, thinking of Robb and even Jon. 

  
“I have a bastard brother, Jon. He’s a man of the night's watch now. I always used to ignore him, because my mother disliked him being raised with us, and I did what she wanted because as a girl I just wanted to make her happy.” she found herself telling Daenerys. She had found herself missing her half brother after their father was killed. Jon was so like Ned, he looked more like their father than any of their siblings, perhaps besides Arya. She thought that must have made her mother even more upset, to see the undeniable relationship between the boy and her husband.

  
“I remember, when Rob and Jon started to become interested in women, I told Jon that no matter what a girl says her name is he should always say it’s a pretty name. Girls like that.” she smiled, thinking of one of the few moments she had willingly talked with him, to be kind to him. 

“Who’s his mother?” Daenerys asked, out of curiosity.

  
“We don’t know. Father never said. Some believe his mother was Ashara Dayne, who gossip had spread he was in love. She had eyes like you.” she tells Dany and looking at those eyes she thinks again about Viserys.

“The truth is, your brother scares me.” Sansa also admitted something.

Dany looked at her with a shocked expression, as if she couldn’t imagine a woman like Sansa scared of her brother.

  
“I told you before, I don’t know what really happened to my aunt if she went with your older brother willingly, but the haunting history that I was taught was that he had kidnapped and raped her. And I know how your brother looks at me sometimes, even now.” 

she said, confessing the fears she was not allowed to show or hint at to those in her Khalasar less she is thought weak. 

“It makes my skin crawl and a terrible feeling run down my spine, thought I know Drogo would never let another man touch me or hurt me.” she said and looked away from the princess, afraid she would be offended by this admittance. 

  
Instead, she found a warm hand put over her own and Sansa looked back into Daenerys’s eyes.

“I have known that fear all my life, you are not wrong to feel as you do. He is temperamental and violent, but as you said, your husband would never let my brother touch you.”

Sansa held her hand right back, lacing their fingers together.

“If,--”Dany hesitated for a moment. “If my brother Rhaeger really did such horrible things to your aunt, I hope you will accept my deepest regrets and apologies for his actions.”

“Thank you, Princess.” Sansa smiled and then frowned again.

  
“I feel so terrible for you, to have lived and suffered by the hand of your own blood.” she said going back to Dany’s own pains.

“I don’t think he has ever forgiven me for killing our mother on the childbed, she was all he had when they escaped. A child I suppose, one who had the blessing to have their parent, probably believes they’ll always be there, that nothing can hurt them or take them away.”

  
Sansa thought of her father, how she had never imagined thought a day would come where her father was not there. She had believed her father, a lord, a soldier, was untouchable, he was a champion and hero. How could anything terrible happen to him or take him away from her or their family. For all her anger and bitter words of hate, she loved her father, she only wished she had gotten to tell him that, to tell him she was sorry for being so terrible and mean to him, to tell him thank you for the doll he had so thoughtfully bought just for her when he didn’t believe is such silly and frivolous things.

“No, I don’t suppose we do.” she said and quickly wiped at a tear that had begun to leak from her eye, but Dany stopped her, bringing it away from her face.

  
“Don’t hide it, no one here will see you.” she promised, looking at the tall grass and reeds around them and the Dothraki men and Brienne were only a few feet away, but their backs were to them.

“He really was a good man.” she told Dany. “When your nephew and niece were laid at his feet, he was outraged, he had pleaded with King Robert to punish Tywin Lannister for such cruelty rather than reward him for it. He was a man of honor that would never punish a child for their parents crimes”

“I loved him,” she said as another tear came down her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry, Sansa” 

  
The silver hair girl scooted closer and wrapped her arm around Sansa’s shoulders, holding her close. Hoping the embraced helped to soothe some of her pain and regrets.

A thought came to Sansa and she turned her head and looked at Dany, faces so close there nose’s near brushed.

“Let me help you appease your brother. Take him to the western market, find his favorite foods and I’ll have a dinner prepared while you think of some gifts for him. What do you think?” she asked, trying to be kind.

  
“I would greatly appreciate that.” the princess smiled, hoping this idea would turn her brothers mood.

“Then it’s settled. Tomorrow Drogo will go hunting, and you’ll go to the market in the morning. By the evening, a feast worthy of a king will be ready for the both of you and if the gods are good your brother will find himself in a much better mood after.” she smiled and hoped that this thoughtful gift my improve their relations, now and for the future. 

  
When they were ready to leave the Womb of the Worlds edge, Sansa could barely rise to her feet. Brienne had to help her, taking her from under both of her arms and practically just lifting her. She made sure to hold on until Sansa was steady and Dany still came to put an arm behind her back, walking with their sides pressed together.

  
Sansa felt so ashamed to be seen in such a weakened state. Her belly still had some growing to do before Jhariqo came, but Sansa was beginning to at last suffer the worst effects of pregnancy. Jahriqo was constantly moving and keeping her awake, pressing against things inside so that near every few minutes she felt the strong urge to make water. 

“What does it feel like?” 

The question nearly made Sansa want to slap Daenerys beautiful face, her emotions were near as unpredictable and ever changing as Viserys. She was annoyed, tired, and though she loved her son inside of her she wished he would just come out already.

“It’s wonderful, but not as wonderful as some make it out to be. It’s very strange, to feel life moving inside you, at first it feels like stomach pains others it’s like a butterfly fluttering inside you.” Sansa decided she didn’t want to disillusion the other woman completely.

“I don’t know anything about a woman carrying a baby, just how it’s gets there.” Daenerys blushed as she helped Sansa back to her and Drogo’s place of rest. 

“My mother tried to explain to me before I left Winterfell, but it didn’t go very well. For all her eloquence, I don’t think she was ready yet, and being so proper she didn’t tell me the gritty things.” she laughed and then stopped, the sound choking her as she remembered Daenerys mother died birthing her.

Daenerys didn't take her eyes off the sky above them. “I wish I had known my mother. I don’t think Viserys ever forgave the fact that I was the reason she died.”

“I never understand that anger.” Sansa admitted and that got Dany to look at her again. “Tyrion Lannister, probably the only kind Lannister to me besides Cersei’s youngest children, his mother died birthing him as well.” she didn’t mean to defend him too her, that was not at all the point she was trying to make.

“His father, his sister, they all hate him for it but none of us choose to be born, we just are. Our mothers, they know that they could die, I know _ I  _ could die yet they and I welcome the thought of bringing another life into our households.” Sansa cupped the bowl of her stomach.

“Are you scared?” Daenerys asked with a swallow.

“Terrified.” Sansa said. “But my father used to tell my brothers that a man can only truly be brave when he’s scared. I would like to think that applies to us women as well.”

Daenerys grinned. “Than I must be the bravest woman in the world.” 

  
“Fear can make us do stupid and rash things, we can not always stop ourselves from feeling fear, but we can’t let it control us either.” Sansa said. “It was out of not just anger but fear that I humiliated your brother, and such actions can have consequences.”   
When they reached Sansa’s accommodations Sansa stopped and looked at Dany, her eyes dangerously serious.

“I heard my husband offered you the position of second wife?” 

  
“I said no, Khaleesi.” the princess rushed to say, putting emphasis on the title so that though she walked with a straighter back now, she was acknowledging Sansa’s position with respect. Sansa had been kind to her, but this was dangerous ground to be standing on with another woman. She was surprised when Sansa’s eyes softened.

  
“Pity, it may not be the way in Westeros, but I wish you had said yes.” she said and then went inside, leaving Daenerys incredibly confused. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously there hasn't been any sexy times between Sansa and Daenerys, their relationship I guess you can say is a bit of a slow burn. They are attracted to one another obviously and enjoy being with one another but Sansa is married and Dany believes herself betrothed to Robb. Obviously, the two aren't just going to start making out at any moment or feeling each other up like teenagers. 
> 
> and some notes I want to address:
> 
> 1\. Daenerys's lack of backbone. 
> 
> Remeber, Dany is not the Khaleesi, she does not have the strength and support of the khalasar and Dothraki that gave her the confidence and power it did in the show. Dany has to learn to be strong without that, she has to be brave on her own without the security that Sansa has. Slowly she is getting there with Jorah's help, though I haven't written it. 
> 
> 2\. No one mentioned it, but Mereen and the other slaver cities  
> I still want to focus on them, because I really believe that Dany, before she goes to Westeros, needs practice at the ruling part of being queen. 
> 
> Really thats it so far. If anyone has any input or critisim on how to make the coming chapters and plot better, Please I am all ears.


	36. 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A king meets his end. But which one.

Brienne was helping her walk some when Dany and Viserys arrived back from the Western Market that morning. With them, they brought a cart filled with clothes, food, and caskets of wine that was taken off to their tents. Viserys seemed to be in high spirits upon his return. Sansa was glad for Dany’s sake, who was so under her brother's thumb. Every time she saw them, the way she was so scared of him, all she could think about was when she was back in Kings Landing. 

  
“I see you’ve returned with a number of great finds, Your Grace,” Sansa said and bowed her head, unable to go much lower so far along. 

  
“I did, it appears even lowly merchants know who I am. He said people are beginning to sing my praise and pray for my return to Westeros,” he told her. Sansa hoped it was true and that her brother had managed to have some rumors spread about Viserys or if these merchants were just trying to swindle him.

  
“When a wine seller learned who I was he gave me a casket of Arbor as a gift.” he told her, fluffing up like some cocky bird,  beaming at Sans.

  
She smiled to humor him. “That is wonderful, Your Grace, the treatment meant for a king.” 

  
“Well, I hope you enjoy your wine, Your Grace.” she bowed her head and continued her walk. She would make sure to have the wine poured for the feast for him tonight.

Sansa stopped look up at Ser Jorah, who was following at the back of the party.

  
“Have you hear any news of Westeros while in the market?” she asked carefully. Her only source of information was her brother, but word crossed the seas with men that her brother might not have felt the need to report on. 

  
“Not much, Khaleesi. Just merchant gossip.” he tells her.

  
“Sometimes gossip stems from the truth, did you hear anything that you feel may be so?” she continued to hold his company.

  
They may have come to a truce and understanding when she learned why he had fallen so low and desperate as to sell slaves, for the love of his wife and her comfort, but his loyalty was with the princess and not her. 

He was a man she could not trust completely. She had been moved by his story, that he had sold slaves for money to make his wife happy because he loved her. It was romantic, and the piece of her heart that still held some notion of fantasy and romance swelled at his tale. So they came to a peace. Jorah knew her father had been in the right to take his head, but it didn’t mean he hated him any less and Sansa as her father's daughter had to remind him what he did was wrong, though she understood why.

  
Jorah glanced over her head, waiting until Viserys was out of earshot before looking to Sansa.

  
“Kings Landing has entered a state of prosperity with the Tyrell’s in the capital, the people love Queen Margaery and through her also King Joffrey. The people don’t just fear the Lannisters and the crown anymore, but they're starting to love them.” Sansa felt herself go cold.

  
This wasn’t good at all. This war relied on the people hating the Lannisters as much as they feared them, that they would be the gladder to see them gone. But if  Tywin was clever enough to be using the Tyrells to not only better Joffrey’s name but House Lannister’s name, then if they killed them or not, the people would rise against Viserys and the North for backing him.

  
“We can’t go to Westeros after the babe is born,” she told Jorah. “Not when they have the people on their side.”

Jorah didn’t argue this, but he nodded solemnly and listened to what else she had to say. 

  
“I don’t know war or battle Ser Jorah, but I know politics and people better now from my captivity in the capital, and if we meet up with my brother and take Kings Landing we will be met with hatred and disgust.” she shook her head and clucked her tongue in aggravated disappointment. 

  
“Then what do we do?” he asked her, really asked her seriously.

  
“We have to wait until Cersei puts herself once again in a compromising position. She won’t tolerate a queen more beautiful and loved than she. She’s too vain and proud. She’ll plot against Margaery and when Margaery falls so will the power of the crown and that's when we sail.” she knew Cersei too well, she would not allow her son to be manipulated by anyone other than her. Cersei would kill every one of Joffrey’s brides and queens to keep her power as Queen regent. Perhaps she would allow one to live long enough to bear him a child, but once her son had an heir the woman was no more use.

  
Cersei had no mercy for her own sex.

  
“The king will not be pleased to hear that.” Jorah frowned and Sansa repressed a un lady like snort, rubbing a hand over her belly as Jhariqo moved restlessly.

  
“Well unless he wants to be as despised as his father when he ascends the throne he’s just going to have to get over it. I’m not a soldier like my father, but if he takes my council and actually listens, I can help him not only be feared but loved.” she said, and she admitted it may have seemed a little too confident of her to make such a statement, but she had learned a great deal from Cersei and Tyrion, even from Joffrey whose cruelty earned him no respect, not even fear, no he only had any of that because of his mother and now his grandfather. People tiptoed around him like a spoiled child with a hammer ready to break your toes in his next hissy fit. 

  
“You're sure of yourself?” he asked, not meaning to be condescending or rude, he was just surprised. 

  
“I don’t want to be the hand of the king,” she promised with a smirk, assuming that was what he was getting at. 

  
“What do you want, Khaleesi?” he asked, following her eyes as she dipped her chin to look at her stomach.

  
“What I’ve always wanted since the day they took my father's head,” she told him. “Home, my family, to be safe again within the walls of Winterfell.”

  
“And what do you want, Ser Jorah?” she asked, noticing the way he looked at Daenerys.

  
The princess had asked him the same thing on the road.

  
“Home.” he answered honestly, and she smiled at him.

  
“I suppose I may be able to convince my brother to pardon you of your past transgressions when we return,” she said, meaning to be kind. “It was so long ago.”

  
“Thank you, Khaleesi.” Jorah bowed his head, grateful for her compassion.

  
“I don’t mean to be so forward, but may I feel the babe?” he asked, shy and unsure as he said the words. 

  
Sansa blinked, surprised but nodded.

  
“My first wife, was from house Glover, a match made by my father. She was a kind, homely woman. She and our child died on the birthing bed.” he said, a deep sadness in his eyes.

  
“I’m so sorry.” she said and meant it, and put her hands over his as Jhariqo quicked and pushed against the man's palms. 

  
“I hope your delivery goes well, Khaleesi, that the gods smile on you and your son more than they did mine.” he gave her his well wishes as he took his hand back.

“May I ask, what you named your son?” Sansa spoke gently, softly to him.

“Jeordan.” he said and then walked off to see to Daenerys. 

When he was gone, Sansa was left to think, to really think about the fire she had fueled. She promised Viserys a crown, and he wanted it now, but that just could not happen.  Not now. They needed more time. Perhaps they could sail for Westeros after Jhariqo was born, go into White Harbor, join with her brother and then plan how they were going to defeat Stannis first who had returned to Dragonstone. He would be the first king that needed to fall on the way to King’s Landing. He would not bend the knee, she knew that, if he was willing to kill his own brother then he wouldn’t bend the knee. 

The people couldn’t rally behind a foreign stranger, they needed to see Viserys, he needed to see them and prove that he was on their side that he was one of them.  It would be difficult. He and Daenerys had spent most of their lives in Essos. Viserys had spent some of his early childhood in Westeros, Kings Landing and Dragonstone but he had been gone a long time with only whispers to teach him the new histories.

She may not be the King's Hand, but she wondered if this was what it felt like. To feel the weight of such decisions on your shoulders. 

  
And for awhile she thought her biggest concerns were preparing a feast for Viserys and praying the birth of her child went without complications.

Sansa was still in deep thought when there was a scream, loud and shrill. Brienne, though without sword, stood in front of Sansa protectively, eyes scanning around them for danger.

  
“Irri, go see what has happened!” Sansa commanded her hands over her belly, protecting her son. Her dogs growled and formed a snarling circle around them as they sensed the unease and turmoil. 

  
It was some time before it felt like anyone came to tell her what had happened. Drogo had found her and it was one of his bloodriders that returned to them first.

“Khal Rhae Mhar is dead!” Chollo said. 

“What, how?” Sansa demanded.

  
“No weapon, Khaleesi, and no marks on neck” he shook his head, meaning that he had been strangled by hand or whip. 

Sansa thought, then with eyes of steel told Chollo to take them to Viserys.

The bloodriders lead the way to Viserys tent, the whore he brought with him was crying in the corner. The one who found him then. Sansa noticed unimpressed that the girl had tried to put as much gold belonging to Viserys into her clothes, ready to run to the market and get on a cart out of Vaes Dothrak once no one was watching her.

Viserys was blue in the face, foam at his mouth, and his eyes were blood shot and glassed over. Sansa moved to examine him closer but Drogo put his arm before her, stopping her. 

  
“Poison,” he spat and pointed at the goblet a little bit away from him.

  
Sasna’s eyes widened at the realization, and she spun to face the whore. “What did he drink, which wine!?” 

  
The girl raised a shaking arm and pointed to the barrel with the Redwyne sigil burned into it.

  
“Has anyone else drank from it, Ser Jorah, Daenerys!?” she walked over and grabbed the girl by her arm, forcing her to stand. “Tell me!”

  
“No, Khaleesi.” she shook her head. 

“Did you poison his cup?” she said more softly, near gentle. 

  
“No, Khaleesi, he poured it from the cask himself,” she said, trembling and terrified. "I was preparing his new clothes."

“Who was the wine seller, what did he look like?” she asked and the whore did her best to describe him. “And did he give any other wine to Viserys or the Princess.”

  
“Yes, the princess also was given some Arbor.”

“Find Daenerys, make sure she hasn’t drunk any of the wine she brought back and destroy the wine and food brought back with them!” and the men and woman both scattered to do her bidding.

When they were gone, Sansa fell against Drogo who rapped an around her and put another to her belly. They were lucky the wine hadn’t been meant for her, but Sansa knew it was coming, she wasn’t sure when or it what form, but the Lannisters always paid their debts. This was only the first, perhaps a warning. 

“Does Daenerys know yet?” She asked Drogo who shook his head.

  
“We should tell her, she’ll hear the whispers soon enough, best we be there.” she told him and the two walked out, leaving Viserys body as was.

They would have his sister decide how his corpse should be disposed of, as his only family it was her right. As it was her right to decide if she wished to continue with them to Westeros or leave with Ser Jorah somewhere else. 

  
Sansa would not force her to go to war for a throne she did not want or was ready to fight for. If she still wanted to go to Westeros, to return to the land she was born, Sansa would take her still. 

But it would be up to her and only her to decide her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so obviously it's not as a violent death as he might have deserved


	37. 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A burial and a choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally I had planned to have Catelyn go to Essos to be with Sansa, but I'm not seeing how I can work that out for the future chapters. 
> 
> My problem is that I tend to stray from my original plans and then I fuck myself over. 
> 
> So let's hope you guys like this and am happy to hear your opinion.

She didn’t have him burned, no, she took his corpse to far outside of Vaes Dothraki to the kingdom of Ifeqevron and bury him beneath a tree. It was not a ceremony worth a king, but Sansa and Jorah walked her through the custom, they found some stones and bought some jars of paint from the market and made eyes on the stones. Jorah had helped dress him in the new, clean clothes he had bought before his death. The ones he died in were covered in shit from when his bowels had released upon his death.

His hair was washed and brushed too. Jorah took the boy's body from the side of the grave and lowered him into the hole. He folded his arms and put a hand over hand. Daenerys then hands him the stones to put on his eyes and Jorah said a prayer before climbing out and beginning to cover the corpse with the unburied dirt.

When it was done, though he was not a craftsman, at Daenerys request, Jorah carved the dragon sigil of House Targaryen as best he could.

“He was weak, a coward and he hurt and belittled me…” she said with no venom, no malice, not even sadness. “But he was my brother, the only family I have had, the only other of my blood that lived. I loved him and I hated him.” 

Daenerys turned her back to the grave and mounted her horse. “Come, Ser Jorah.” 

And he followed after her, mounting his horse and riding back in silence to Vaes Dothrak. He knew he needed to access what she planned to do. Without Viserys Sansa had no alliance to continue hosting them under, though her brother still might need Viserys name. It all depended. 

When Daenerys returned she was called to Drogo’s and Sansa’s cave. The both of them were waiting for her.

“Daenerys, please, sit.” Sansa offered her. Dany decided to stand, she noted the scroll in the Khaleesi’s hand.

  
“I’m sorry, for your brother,” she said again. Dany thought it was the fifth time she’s said it so far.

  
“My brother is marching back to Winterfell,” she said. “To take it back from the turncloaks Theon Greyjoy, who was a ward to my father.”

“He’s running!” Daenerys spat.

  
Sansa’s compassion left her eyes at the other woman's tone.

  
“No. He is taking our home back, just like your brother wanted to take his home back.” she reminded her, voiced measured and composed.

“Until my brother makes further plans to take the capital we will not sail without a plan.” Sansa swallowed and rubbed her stomach.

  
“It not’s safe. Things are too at peace, the Lannisters have too many of the houses on their sides now with Joffrey’s marriage to Margaery.” she sighed and watched Daenerys face for a reaction.

Sansa watched as Dany pressed her lips tight, silencing herself.

  
“My brother marched and fought for my father, to free me and my sister. My father's dead, I am here and only the gods know what became of my sister. Winter is coming, everyone needs to prepare for it and if that doesn't keep the crown busy and they still try to march into the North, they won’t get back the first snow bank.”

“You're giving up.” Daenerys voice could barely be heard, an angry whisper.

  
“No.” Drogo said this time. 

  
“Be my second wife, give brothers to Jhariqo, and I will sit your oldest on this…” he struggled to think of the word for a moment. 

  
“Throne.” Daenerys gave him softly.

  
“Yes, throne will be his.” he promised.

“What of your brother.” Daenerys looked at Sansa, confused, so confused.

“I lied to you, and I am sorry. Before you ever came to me my brother was already wed to Roslin Frey.” 

“Why would you do that, why would you lie, give me hope. What would you have done if my brother didn’t die?” she asked, reasonably upset.

“I didn’t believe your brother would have survived the war if he chose to fight. I thought you might be relieved not to be forced to marry.” she admitted, head down before she remembered who was beside her and she quickly raised it again. 

“Then why bother with any of this, you could have just turned us away!” Daenerys eyes burned with rage, hot tears began to pour from them. 

  
“Because I wanted to help  _ you.”  _ Sansa told her and stood, going over to Daenerys on swollen ankles and taking her face in her hands. “I took one look at you, and I saw it in your eyes, you knew all the sufferings and humiliations I have known.”

“We have both lost brothers now,” Sansa said, a sob caught in her throat.

“What?” Daenerys asked, brows furrowed. Suspicious.

  
“My little brothers, Bran and Rickon, they were strung up and burned in the courtyard of our home by a man who we called brother, Theon Greyjoy.” 

  
“Please, consider Drogo’s offer. Stay here, live and make heirs a plenty. Rebuild your house so that there will be something left behind if all fails. This is not over, my brother still must have justice for our father against the Lannisters” she pressed her forehead to Daenerys, her belly pressed against her.

  
“I want you, I care for you, we’ll take care of you.” she promised and touched their noses, Sansa’s lips brushing her cheek. 

She pulled back.

“Or you can leave, Ser Jorah will take you anywhere you want. I’ll give you the gold, the jewels that you need. You can buy half an army and ships with your dragon eggs.” She offered a suggestion.

  
“My children will be bastards.” she said, not to be hurtful.

  
“You will be queen. You can legitimize them.” she reminded Daenerys. “And Drogo promises, if you wish to marry another in the eyes of the old gods and new in Westeros, you can. He doesn't want to be king, he already is one. He wants the glory of killing the men in armor and taking lands no Khal has ever set foot on.”

“But the Dothraki way--” Daenerys began.

Sansa smiled.

  
“Drogo will be the first Dothraki in Westeros, the first Khal Westeros had ever seen, he can make the Dothraki way whatever he wants it to be.” she said with a smirk.

She brushed some of Daenerys hair back, eyes on her lips before they traveled up to her eyes. “I don’t want to force you into this. Think it over carefully you will not offend us or earn our ire if you decide not to take our offer.”

  
“But if I want your armies. I have to marry Drogo.” Sansa looked ashamed, but nodded.

  
“Drogo will not go into war for a foreigner if he’s not getting something in return from them. And what he wants from you, is you.” she said, hands falling away but Danny caught them, holding them where they were.

  
“What do you want, Sansa?” she asked, looking deeply up into those beautiful, icy blue eyes.

“I want what no one can give me, man or woman.” she wanted the past, she wanted Winterfell when her family was together and alive.

  
“And you, princess, what do you want?” Sansa asked her, searching her face for the yet spoken answer.

  
“I want to go home, I want my birthright.” she said with the righteous of a naive child, of a girl who just wanted the power to protect herself and guarantee of a life of security and comfort. 

She wasn’t ready for it though, she had no idea what the thing she wanted most actually entailed. But Sansa would not argue with her, she would not try and sway her if this was truly what she wanted.

“I only ask two things in exchange. The first being that you uphold your brother's agreement with me prior to his death that the  North will be independent of the throne.” that should have been obvious.

  
“And the second?” Daenerys stepped back, out of her hold.

  
“That you have to be better than your father, your brothers.” Sansa began passionately.  “You have to be stronger, wiser and you have to be just towards criminals and innocent alike. You have prove you deserve it beyond your birthright. Do you understand and accept these stipulations if you choose to marry my husband and we pledge our army to you?”

“If I refuse, and I leave, will you still sail to Westeros and join your brother...without me?” Daenerys asked, eyes testing her and Sansa steeled herself.

  
“You may be the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and as much as I want Joffrey and the rest of them dead, your battle is not necessarily mine to fight. If I go back to Westeros with Drogo and our army, without you, it won’t be to fight for you but for my family, for the North.” she stepped back and raised her chin.

  
“If you go leave and manage to get yourself ships and an army and get back to Westeros don’t expect that you will be welcomed or that the Lords of the seven kingdoms will bow to you. My brother won’t, the Reach won’t, the Riverlands won't, and the Eyrie won’t not if you don’t have someone to plead your case beyond just your  _ claim,  _ to convince them that you will be a good ruler.”

“I don’t need anyone to convince people I should rule, it is my birthright, I was born for it, I know I can rule better than all of them,” Daenerys said with passion, and Sansa smiled at such self conviction and faith.

  
“Strange, how the death of a loved one changes us. Just a day before you were so timid, so fragile yet that girl does not stand before me now. You're so bold.” the way Sansa smirked suddenly reminded Dany of where she was, who she was standing before and speaking in such a tone too.

  
Sansa may have been kind to her, but she was the Khaleesi and Drogo the Khal who at a word could have her killed for disrespect if he wanted. She looked at him, to try and see exactly what his reaction to all this was.   
He looked amused.

“I’m not mad, I’m proud and I am sad for you.” Sansa told her and say back down next to Drogo. 

“Sad?” the princess asked.

“Yes, sad that you had to lose your brother, that you’ve lived such a life full of struggle of fear, i feel for you and I wish for your happiness but happiness is never free in this world. There is always a price.” she said and stroked her belly.

  
“You seem happy, what price did you have to pay?” Daenerys asked, a bit softer, calmer as she realized how she had been behaving.

“My mothers pride in me. She has not written since I wrote to her and my brother I was expecting.” Sansa said.

  
“You should go, think carefully over your options, princess.” Sansa dismissed her, eyes and hands on her belly, eyes going red with the tears she would not let fall. 

  
“Moon of my life?” She heard Drogo speak as she exited the cave.

“All is well, my Sun and Stars, all is well.” Sansa sighed, and the princess could imagine her soft smile as she looked up at Drogo.

Sometimes that smile was even directed to her, and it made Dany want to fall into her embrace, to feel her naked, sun kissed flesh upon hers and kiss her lips. She imagined Drogo’s hot, black eyes, the passion that burned like coals. She liked it when he looked at her with those eyes, wondered what it would feel like to look at him and see the same pride for her that he held for his first wife. How would his big, large hands feel on her, how would he touch her?

  
There was only one way to know.


	38. Announcement

I fudged up.

  
I got too impulsive, and I've added things to the story that have completely thrown off my planned timeline and events. I've referenced future events already in past chapters that now would have to be overlooked as I continue.

It's very frustrating as a writer to screw up your own story.

I don't know how to continue. Any direction I can think of right now is not what I had planned and it's not going to feel right and will seem messy in my head. 

I'm going to need time to figure out how to get past this and plan out and decide what direction to go in that I am happy with so that this story can bounce back.

I know so many of your really love my story and I read all of your comments and I want to thank you for the time you've taken to read each chapter I post. I won't give up on this story, I promise you that. I just need to get things straightened out.

Hopefully, whatever I decide you will love.

I'm sorry for disappointing anyone. 


	39. Update news!

So this is how it's going to go.

  
This story will continue, but not in the direction that was planned. For that, I will be posting a separate and edited copy of this story under the name "The Two Wives" and this one will be renamed to "Of Wives and Queens" and the summary will also be changed to follow the new plotline for this one.

Now I still plan to get the poly on with Drog/Sansa/Dany, it's just not gonna happen as originally stated or in the way planned.

So, I'm going to say it now.

I'm sorry that this is not turning out what you expected, that you thought you were going to get one thing and not because of my impulsiveness your gonna get another thing.

But I want to say thank you. The incredible responses I have gotten from the last notice I put up really touched me and inspired me. That way instead of just dropping the story completely and starting over, I am going to continue on the road I've put it on and make it work in a way I'll be happy with it. 

We still got a long way to go, so I hope you stick with me for where I'm taking this story. 

Next chapter should be up at the latest, in another week.

Good news is that I have a good idea of where I'm going again.


	40. 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany makes her choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINALLY BACK!!!  
> Thank you all so much for your understanding and support.

Daenerys left Vaes Dothrak in the morning with Jorah. Sansa saw them before they left.

“If you change your mind, you’ll be welcomed back. I promise.” Sansa told Dany and took her face in her hands like she had the night before. She kissed her lips, just once, just so she would know what it felt like.

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, _My Queen_.” Sansa stepped back so she was once more pressed into Drogo’s side who gave many nods to Jorah and said a few words to his friend in goodbye.

“Be happy, Sansa, we will meet again” Daenerys gave her a blinding smile. “I believe our destinies are intertwined.”

“Take care of her, Ser Jorah.” Sansa looked at the knight as she and Daenerys released their hold on one another, eyes hard and expecting.

  
“Till my dying day, Lady Stark,” he swore and waited until Dany mounted her horse before he mounted his. They gave one last wave of farewell to one another before they were riding away. Sansa heard Jorah mention Asshai once. Though she wouldn’t imagine why they would want to go to such a dark place as that.

When they were gone, Sansa found she elt a little empty without the dragon princess near. She had thought they had grown close, but she understood why she would turn their offer down and held no grudge against her for it.

She would miss her and hoped that Jorah would protect and teach her about Westeros so that one day when Dany had a strong army at her back she would be a wise and just queen.

Sansa wrote to Robb about Viserys death, and he wrote back that he had retaken Winterfell, but Theon had run, he managed somehow to get away. Maybe he knew he had been on his way back, but he left, left his men behind and ran back to the Iron Islands Robb supposed. He also told her that they had found Rickon on his way to the Umbers. Bran was not with him or the wilding woman that was caring for their youngest brother.  Sansa was just happy that her brother had taken back their home, that Rickon was safe. For some reason, Bran was going to the wall, he had to get beyond it to see what Rickon had said was a three-eyed raven. No one knew what that meant but Robb had sent another Raven to the wall telling Jon to keep an eye out for their brother and stop him if he reached the wall. Robb would have someone go and get him when that happened.

Sansa was so elated that her family was safe, her home retaken, that in her joy her water broke. Her son was coming. She was brought outside to lay on grass roles and woolen blankets and down pillows. As should all things important, the birth of her son was to happen beneath the stars. It was a long, excruciating delivery that lasted through the night and into the dawn. She cried hot, big tears and begged for the mother she knew could not be there. But Drogo was with her. He held her between his legs so that she could rest back against his chest, he kept his hands on her belly, speaking to her and to his son while Shae held on her hands, Irri the other while her legs were spread apart and all the Khalasar could see as she pushed her child from her cunt and into the hands of the midwife who pulled Jhariqo from her and held him up into the light of the dawn for all of them to see his male hood.

  
A boy! She announced confirming the crone's prophecy. A boy!

  
Jhariqo’s name was shouted in thunderous applause.

  
Sansa gave a sob and then smiled and laughed, leaning further into her husband held tilted back and welcomed his soft kiss. Finally, her husband took a sharpened rock and cut her child's chord that connected him to her and Jhariqo was put in her arms.  The midwife cleaned her up and pulled the rest from her.

The baby in her arm had darkened skin just a shade lighter than his father's, and she was surprised to find he had the copper hair of his mother, though not as bright as Sansa’s kissed by fire ginger. His eyes were beautiful obsidian, alight with life as wiggled and looked up at his parents. He whined and cried some and Sansa rocked him soothingly, kissing his forehead and nose, and bright little cheeks. She counted his fingers and toes, felt his heart beneath her fingers, felt the rise of his lungs beneath her palm.

Drogo cupped his head, thumb stroking the faint brow of his son, his eyes were soft and adoring as he held his son and wife in his arms, the sun continues to rise and shine upon them, bathing them in warm golden light. Sansa wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. She remembered feeding her son from her own breast, something that highborn women weren’t supposed to do. Even the Dothraki had wet nurses, but Sansa didn’t want to hand him over to anyone. This was her moment, this was her blessing and her child and he would suckle from his own mother's teat before she allowed another woman to nurture him. Drogo’s bloodriders and Brienne watched over the pair and their newborn, they kept guard until the two were ready to go back to their cave, cool and private.

  
The family stayed together all day and night, and in the morning they woke with Jhariqo between them in the bed his mother had made him. Sansa hadn’t slept after the baby was born like most mothers did, she stayed away until she couldn't anymore. When she woke she was terrified she would find her son cold and still but he wasn’t. He was awake, squirming and whimpering, little fists curled and flailing. He was a strong, as much of a kicker as he had been in her belly.

Sansa fed him from her breast again and then went back to sleep and when he woke the second time Drogo was holding their son. The boy, who was much bigger than she had expected, looked so small in his father's muscled arms she was almost afraid he would be crushed. But Drogo held him as gently as an egg, light and careful.

Sansa stayed quiet and still, just watching them. Gods, she didn’t think she could be this happy ever again. She had a loving, strong husband, a strong army at her back and front, loyal maids by her side. She was far from her family. But she knew she would see them again.One day, may not soon, but one-day Jhariqo would meet his uncles and see the land in which she was born. And so would Dany.

  
She had seen her again like she had the first time. Daenerys was older and road on the back of a great dragon above a team of horses that galloped through snow and across the ice. Her son's hair was long and braided down his back, he held a sword of pure black. That reflected no light. An army of corpses was rushing towards them from the other side, she wanted to scream when she saw them and then small girls. With dark green tinted skin and the oddest eyes threw these blue balls and they exploded, blasting away clusters of deadman and those that continued to come were rained with fire, and those that got past the flames were cut down by her grown son and his khalasar as the snow fluttered down, blanketing them all in white.

It scared Sansa, what the dream meant, and it made her think of her half-brother Jon at the wall. She wondered if Arya had made it to him yet. The two would be so happy to see one another. She remembered how Arya had adored their bastard brother and how he had adored her in return.

She wondered what Arya would think of her life, of her husband and the child she had. Surely she would be so surprised to see Sansa with her hem muddy, riding with her hair frizzy and dust on her cheeks. She would probably laugh at her.

  
But her dream about Daenerys and Jhariqo left her with the confidence that her son would live past infancy, that he would grow tall and strong like his father. She knew it would be hard to teach him kindness and compassion among the Dothraki, but she would find a way. She would teach her son that he could be strong, wise and also kind when it was deserved. She would see that he never became a cruel and selfish man like Cersei had allowed Joffrey to be. She would be a better mother than Cersei, a better wife, and ruler.

She would be like her Lady Mother. Despite the lack of words from her. Her mother was still one of her greatest sources of strength. She remembered the ways she had loved to brush her hair, the way she had told Sansa so sadly, near pleading that if she married Joffrey she would have to leave her. Sansa for the first time had taken her mother for granted when she turned around and begged her mother to maker her father say yes to the match, told her that it was the only things she’s ever truly wanted.

  
She wished she had listened. She wished she had hugged her mother and told her she wouldn’t leave her yet, that she would stay and grow, and let her mother teach her about being a woman and settled for a match that would have made her happier than Joffrey ever could. But she was a fool, but no longer. She was a woman grown, a wife, a mother and the Khaleesi. She was not some naive young thing with a head full of songs anymore. She knew what the world was now. Her parents had tried to protect her, they hadn’t taught any of them what it was really like.

  
She would make sure her son knew, that when the world finally decided it was his turn to have its claws sunk into him he would know how to fight, how to survive.

  
Cersei was coming for Sansa. Viserys was only the beginning. She knew that. He was a warning, a threat to Daenerys and herself.

  
Stay away, the lions roared. Stay away or we shall feast on you as we have feasted on the rest of your family.

But Sansa was a beast to, a wolf who would defend her young and family against all those that sought to harm them. But she could not do it alone.

  
The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives and winter was coming. She needed her brothers and sisters, and they needed her when it came.

Because the thing that unsettled her the most about her dream was her son fighting the dead, but the feeling that it would not be the first time the battle against them has happened. Something was coming, something terrible and far worse than Cersei and Joffrey. Real and true monsters lurked for beyond the wall like Old Nan’s stories. She remembered the dragon in her dream, Daenerys riding it and the dragon eggs she kept close to her at all times. But they were fossils, stone, unliving yet Daenerys always seemed to feel something within them.

It made her think again why Jorah had chosen to take Daenerys to Asshai. What was there for either of them but darkness and magic? Or was that it, did Danny have a dream too, did she know something there that could help hatch her eggs.

  
Sansa worried about what she might try to accomplish that and if it would be worth the price she would have to pay to get what she wanted.

Sansa didn’t think of it anymore. She rose from the furs and walked with a sluggish limp to Drogo and her son. She sat next to them and leaned against Drogo’s strong frame. She kissed his shoulder and then his lips and touched her son’s red hair and traced down the side of his chubby little cheek. He yawned and whined and opened his big dark eyes and looked at his mother and father.

“We did well, my sun and stars.” Sansa told Drogo.

“He is strong, moon of my life.” he agreed.

  
“He’s perfect.” she smiled, taking his little fist in her hand, so warm and soft.

  
Drogo looks at her, just looks and watches the way she touches and gazes upon their son, the fire in her blue eyes that match the magnitude of their son. He had felt such pride when she pushed their son from her and the midwife confirmed it was a boy. He knew she would not disappoint him. His Khaleesi was truly his love, his joy, and pride. Every day she grew fiercer, more attuned to the Dothraki ways. He loved her passion for women, for him. He loved the way she took to being Khaleesi, the way she struggled at first but came to learn Dothraki tradition and customs. He loved her strong spine and even the moments of compassion she had that the Dothraki typically looked down on. The Mother of Mountains had truly blessed him with a fine Khaleesi.

  
“He kissed their sons head and then hers.

  
“I love you, moon of my life.” he told her and pressed his forehead to her.

Sansa smiled that beautiful smile that made something hot blood in his chest.

  
“And I love you, so very much, my sun and stars.”


	41. 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys arrives in Asshai

Tears slid down Daenerys cheek some miles away from Vaes Dothrak.

It would have been so easy to stay, to be with Sansa and Drogo, in all ways possible. She had desired it, dreamed of it, but she had other dreams too. Much bigger dreams, of a red door, a throne and dragons. And that’s why she had to leave. It had to be this way. She would not mooch off the greed and ambitions of others like her brother had, making promises he had no means to keep. She would not be a beggar again, she would be a conqueror. 

She had come to realize that presenting her son as king of the six kingdoms would be satisfying, but not more than sitting on the Throne herself first. Her children would rule, but first, she would as was her birthright now that Viserys was dead. 

Some say the first dragons appeared from Asshai, a city that was said to have stood from the very beginning of time. So with her three eggs in a satchel close to her waist, she would ride with Jorah to this supposed birthland of dragons and find means to hatch the ones in her custody. She had considered selling them, so that she may have the means to purchase a small army to start with but when she felt the pulse inside the eggs, she realized she couldn’t do it. 

She would have her dragons first and then her army. 

Daenerys was happy to have Jorah with her. He was good company, and over meals and before they slept at night Jorah went over the histories of Westeros with her, taught her about the houses great and small. It appeared Sansa had given him a lesson plan before they left, and had also taken it upon herself to write as much of the most recent histories in Westeros that she could think of that would matter. If Daenerys hoped to be the queen of the Six Kingdoms she couldn’t be ignorant of the people she would be ruling over.

The truth was, Daenerys hadn’t felt it was necessary when it started. She was born on Dragonstone, the people of Westeros were her people and something deep down inside her told her when she came home she would just know them as if the moment her feet touched the dirt of her homeland all the knowledge and history of it would flow into her. But it wouldn’t. And Jorah had told her it was good that she already felt such strong ties to the home she never knew, but the people would expect more of her. It would not all just fall into her lap when she arrived to take back what was hers. He had to remind her not to think like Viserys once had.

That words were a bitter, awakening bite. Jorah was right. 

So Dany studied, she sat and read by a dying candle long into the night until her eyes hurt. There were things she didn’t understand, the history and loyalties of some of the houses that she had to have Ser Jorah explain better to her.  But he is no Maester, he was a knight, not a teacher and though he did his best to educate and counsel her he lacked in certain regards. 

Asshai was a popular trading destination, even ships from Westeros traded and made port in Asshai before returning. Perhaps they could find a proper teacher for Daenerys while there. A princess and queen-to-be needed a proper education, and she had lacked that being exiled in a foreign country. She had been born in the seven kingdoms, but she had been raised in them and that would be her greatest fault in the eyes of the Westerosi people. Sansa was right, this needed to be remedied so she stood a chance of being accepted by the people. They would not accept a queen who only knew the bare minimum of their history. 

When they arrived in Asshai Daenerys had not expected it to be as dark as it was. Everything was black and ashen, a mist seemed to be a constant across the land, the earth beneath her feet felt alive and hot like the surface of her dragon eggs. She felt strong in this strange, dark place. Beside, her Jorah shifted in his saddle. He did not feel the same as her. 

They found an inn and paid for fortnights stay. As promised Sansa had given them gold and jewels to ease their difficult journey. It hadn’t even been hours since they arrived in Asshai, when a beautiful woman some years older than Daenerys approached them at their dinner table at the inn. Her hair was a brown so dark, it almost appeared black in the dim light. She had a fair complexion with beautiful green eyes and a pleasant mouth. She wore a strange collar of metal around her neck with a black stone, and was dressed in a red gown.

She smiled at them and introduced herself as Kinvara of Volantis, a red priestess of the god R’hllor, commonly known as the Lord of Light or The Red God. 

Jorah took the time to briefly explain the religion to the princess and that Westeros only had a handful of followers. Kinvara just smiled and nodded through it before asking if she may have a seat with them. Jorah was rightfully suspicious, but Daenerys allowed it.

  
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Kinvara bowed her head to the younger girl as she sat herself across from her.

  
“I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself, yet you would call me by such a title?” Daenerys humoured the woman with an audience, curious as to what she wanted.

  
“Oh, I know who you are already, Daenerys Stormborn. I’ve seen you in the flames, I know why you’ve come here. I can help you.”

  
“In the flames?” Jorah asked. 

  
Kinvara nodded. “The lord of light has shown you to me and he has bid me to assist you.”

  
“Your lord of light has already sent one of your priestesses to our land, to help Stannis Baratheon to take a throne that is not his. She called him the prince that was promised.” Jorah told her. 

Kinvara put one hand over the other on the table and looked apologetic to both of them.

  
“Yes, I know. I’m afraid that though we both follow the same God, some us interpret his messages differently. The Lord of Light speaks to us in the flames, with images, and sometimes those images and their meanings can be unclear.” she explained.

  
“She was shown Dragonstone, in the flames I believe. A place of salt and smoke, an island on the sea where once the smoke of dragon flames and a great volcano could once be seen from miles. She believed that from such a place was where Azor Ahai would be reborn.” she told them.

  
“Instead of taking this as a connection to it’s original masters, the Targaryens, she believed the Lord of Light was leading her to it’s current Lord, Stannis Baratheon who dare sit the seat of your forefathers.” she bowed her head in a show of utmost sympathy. “She may have been right, that Azor Ahai would be reborn on dragonstone, but Stannis Baratheon was born in Storm's End.”

Kinvara shook her head sadly. “I feel for my sister, for when she realizes her mistake it will surely be a great and heavy guilt upon her soul.”

“And you believe I am this, Azor Ahai.” Daenerys asked, brows raised.

Kinvara nods. 

_ “There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.” _

“This is the prophecy of Azor Ahai. In the language that it was originally interpreted from the pronoun is interchangeable between man and woman. It may be taken as he or  _ she.  _ I believe that each word should not be so quickly taken for it’s literal meaning.” Kinvara told them. 

  
“And how do you take the meaning of this prophecy?” Jorah asked her.

“I believe the long night is coming, and the night is dark and full of terrors.” Kinvara’s smile began to wilt. “When the long night comes, and the winter wind blows, we will need Azor Ahai and his guiding light to help through the darkness and lead us against our enemies.”

“The Lannisters, you mean?” Daenerys asked, her voice cold, the name a hiss through her lips.

  
Kinvara shook her head. “No, they are your enemy but they are not the worlds and it is the bigger picture that I see. The monsters beyond the wall, the dead who walk and men who are not men, but made of ice and hearts of sinking darkness.”

Daenerys glared at her. Her only enemies were those that stood in her family's seat, who slept and ruled their keeps. Her enemies were the Lannisters that killed her father, her brothers, her niece and nephew, who ran her mother from their home. What other enemy was there that she should be concerned about?

  
“You’ve come here because it’s the place you believe you can hatch your eggs, you believe that dragons can still exist in this world. If you can bring dragons to life, is it so hard to imagine there are other things in this world, darker, terrible creatures that might rise again as well?” Kinvara questioned her, her shoulders rolling as she sat a bit straighter.

“I haven't brought anything to life.” Daenerys frowned.

Kinvara smiled again. “Yet. But I can help you with that.”

“And what do you want in return?” Jorah asked.

He knew Daenerys truly believed her eggs were not just stone, that inside them was a life that she was determined to bring forth. Nothing he said to her would convince her otherwise. She was a dragon, she told him, and the dragon had three heads. She would hatch them. They were meant to come to her so that she could hatch them. She dreamed of them near every night.

“I simply want to help our Queen reach her full potential.” she smiled. “I have seen her path, the good that she will do in pieces and wish to witness their full glory.” 

“Most of all I believe she is the prince that was promised, Azor Ahai reborn and her dragons are her burning sword, they are lightbringer made flesh and their fire shall cleanse the world and bring the dawn.”

“And I assume you want to convert her to the following of R’hollor. Thoros of Myr was sent to Westeros to do the same with Robert Baratheon. He failed.” he told her.

  
“Yes, he did. But I don’t have any notions of converting our queen. She may keep what ever gods she wishes as I will do the same, and through the Lord of Light I will help her. He does not require those he assists through his priests to follow him as well.” Jorah didn’t look believing. 

  
“But I will admit that out of devotion for him we do try to sway others to consider Lord of Light as the one true god.” 

  
Daenerys appreciated the honesty.

“And how do you plan to hatch my dragon eggs?” Daenerys finally asked the important question, the one that was the most crucial to this woman's being accpeted into their party.

  
“By fire, of course.” Kinvara smiled. “Fire and blood.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought long and hard about this chapter and what it means for Daenery's future. I wanted to add Kinvara, because after careful consideration I felt that only a worshipper of fire might have an idea on how to hatch a dragon egg. I know she might seem out of character for a red priestess, but that's the point. I wanted a follower of R'Hollor like Thoros and Beric to see the bigger picture. I wanted a sensible woman, one who didn't need to first see the death of the man she was backing before realizing she fucked up, that she was wrong.
> 
> I wanted to write Kinvara as a character who is compassionate towards Melissandre, still confident of her own visions yet also aware that reading the visions granted to her aren't the easiest to read and interperate, that there can be misunderstanding and they are not perfect. In this I wanted to write a religious version of Varys, I suppose. I needed a character that would lead Dany towards being a hero more than a conqueror.
> 
> Also, I don't know if you could tell in this writing that I am not at all happy with Daenerys in the recent two seasons of the show, especially season 7. I want to draw out the flaws I really hate about her, make her realistic in that regard, but hopefully bring her back around to the hero who wanted to free slaves and make the world a better place. She's going to struggle with both sides of where she started in canon and where she's ended up in canon.


	42. 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter but after so long I finally posted a new chapter.  
> The Two wives of Khal Drogo is in progress and getting to the ready point of being posted.

Daenerys was given a strappy black and  red gown for the ceremony. She couldn’t recall when she ever wore her house colors. That was always Viserys. She was given silver and rose gold gowns when they had the luxury of staying with Magister Illyrio, as he said it suited her coloring far better. Kinvara had her hair braided in a  meticulous fashion, in looping braids with some silver hair left to to cascade in waves down her back.

She watched as Jorah helped build the pyre that she would place her eggs on top. Jorah continued to send her pleading glances. Her eggs would not be the only thing burned upon the pyre. They had gone out of the city, though she sacrifices by fire were not uncommon at all. Still, Jorah felt it was safer for the princess to have some distance from any public space in case the ceremony in some way went wrong. 

“It is the way of the Lord of the Light, a life must be given for what we ask him.” Kinvara stepped up beside the young queen as she watched the wood be added. She could sense the girls inner turmoil. 

“Fire and blood, only these two things together will bring your dragons to life.” Daenerys looked at her. There was fear and uncertainty in her eyes. Kinvara expected such.

  
“What frightens you more, the fire or the death of this stranger?” her mouth was a sympathetic line, her eyes soft and understanding as she looked down at the woman, so soft and delicate.

“Fire has never frightened me, but it doesn’t feel right to just to murder this man. I don’t like such sacrificing to  _ any _ gods” she admitted her uneasiness with the ceremony. 

  
“I’m afraid I do not know any other way, Your Grace.” she admitted. 

  
“Wouldn’t the heat of the fire be enough?” the princess asked, trying to find another way. “It’s so big.”

  
“I don’t think it would be, even if we kept it burning for seven days and seven nights.” she shook her head. “Dragons, have always been very peculiar to hatch. Some eggs only needed to be placed in the cradle of a true Targaryen to crack open their shells, but since the last dragons death the magic inside them that gave them the strength to feel their bonded master has faded and gone entirely. We must give it back to them.” Kinvara explained further.

  
“But magic must have sacrifice.” she said this with a sadder tone, showing her queen that she was not entirely unfeeling. 

She promised Daenerys that she would not have her be part of such a ceremony again if it appalled her so. But it was the way, when something great was asked of the Lord of the light then it was required he received something in return. 

“Would an animal not suffice, a goat or even my horse maybe?” Dany asked and her shoulders sank further when Kinvara shook her head and told her it would not be the same.

“Will you at least tell me who they are and how you came upon them?” She knew knowing this man, knowing who he was only harder but it felt wrong not to know more of the man that she would be burning to death. She thought about what Jaime Lannister had said about her father. Burn them all. She didn’t want to be like her father, but she needed these dragons.

“He is the man that sold your brother the poisoned wine.” Kinvara smiled and the man was brought out. 

  
Daenerys studied the struggling man brought from a cart, Kinvara sell swords restraining him. She remembered his face from the market. It truly was him. She felt her hesitation slowly seep away.

  
“How did you find him?” Dany questioned.

“The Lord of Light showed him to me.” she told her. “So you see, we are not taking the life of an innocent man but of a guilty one.”

“Don’t you wish to avenge your brother?” Kinvara asked her.

Daenerys did not have a loving relationship with her brother, but he was her blood and wanting to avenge your own blood was natural. She found herself nodding.

“It is true, the Lord of Light finds the life of an innocent as a far more sincere gift but he asked for this one specifically. For you.” she touched Dany’s arm, a gesture of comfort and assurance.

Dany nodded again as a sense of righteousness came over her as she ordered Jorah to tie the man to the pyre. She would have her revenge, if only in part for now, the true conspirator and the one who gave the means to the poison to the wine seller was the Lannisters. 

The man begged and cried for mercy but Dany’s ears were deaf to his pleas. She walked with Kinvara who was handed the torch to light the pyre with. Dany put her hand over Kinvara and together brought the flame to light the kindling, stepping back with her and watching as it spread, catching on the dried logs, burned hotter and grew in height until the whole pyre was alit and the man began to burn. Dany took in his screams, she breathed in the smoke of the flames, felt it’s heat and felt alive. 

Soon the wine seller had taken in so much smoke he ceased to breath, his body seizing and skin crisping black. The life was gone from him but it wasn’t enough. Hours passed, the fire still burned but it wasn’t enough. Her eggs were still whole, not a movement from them was seen through the flames.

  
Dany began to walk towards the pyre.

  
“What are you doing?” Jorah caught her arm, pulling her back.

  
She looked into his eyes, frightened for her.

“I have to, they need me.” she told him and watched as Jorah frowned with confusion.

  
“Just be patient.” he asked her and looked over at Kinvara for some support. “If you truly believe this is what will hatch your dragons then wait until the flames die.”

  
“Let her go.” Kinvara stepped towards them.

  
“She’ll burn!” he shouted over Dany’s head at the Red Priestess. “I thought you believed she R'hllor reborn, she won’t be anything but ash if she steps into that.” 

  
“Is that what you fear?” Dany asked as she reached up with those delicate, pale hands and touched his face.

  
“Fire cannot kill a dragon.” she told him like a promise before kissing his cheek and walking towards the pyre, Kinvara wrapping her arm around one of Jorah’s to try and keep him from stopping Dany. 

He watched as the girl he swore to protect stepped into the fire, the flames so bright and so high soon he could not see her at all. She had disappeared. 

“You must believe in her Jorah Mormont, she is the blood do the dragon, she is R'hllor reborn and this is her rebirth. To be what she needs to be, to shed the skin of the child she was, she must burn away her doubts and her sins and this is how she will do it.” Kinvara said to him.

“Do you hear her screaming, do you see her running out aflame as her skin melts away?” she asked him, pulling him back from the pyre.

  
“I have seen this, the Lord of Light has shown me.” she told him. “Do not fear Jorah. She is the blood of the dragon.”

“As you told her to be patient, now it is your turn. Stand guard, Ser Jorah and wait for her to rise anew.” Kinvara turned to look into the flames, a great destiny playing out before her.

  
“Can’t you see it?” she asked him.

  
“See what?” he asked becoming increasingly annoyed with the woman, consumed with panic and regret. This was a mistake, he should never have allowed things to go so far.

“Her future in the flames.” Kinvara said and pointed to the pyre. “The lord of light is showing. If you just one moment allow yourself to believe in him, he’ll show it to you too.”

Jorah saw nothing, only hot, vicious flames. 

He stood guard all through the night and into the morning, terrified that he would find her bones in amongst the ash with three unhatched eggs. That night was certainly dark and filled with terror, terror of what they had done, of the cost.  Was truly one guilty man's life enough to give Daenerys what she wanted so badly, the power and confidence to take back her birthright?

When the fire burned out and the dawn came Jorah saw Daenerys crouched nude in the fire, a baby cream dragon in her one arm, a black one on her shoulder and the third green colored one clinging to her calf. She stood slow and with purpose, her eyes holding a fresh newborn look in them. Jorah dropped to his knee and presented his sword, Kinvara also got low on her knees in a curtsey. Their heads bowed.

  
“My Queen.” they echoes one another. 

If he had not see it himself, he would never believe she had come out unburnt, the mother of dragons. Kinvara went to Daenerys with a proud smile, eyeing the dragons like they were precious little children as she offered the young woman silk to cover herself with. The dragons hissed at Kinvara but the woman paid no mind, patient as Daenerys moved the one from her shoulder down her arm so that Kivara could drape the fabric over her. 

“Come my queen, let us get you and your children inside. We must plan where we are to go next.”


End file.
